


Poster Child

by sabrecmc



Series: Poster Child [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Fanart in Chapter 7, Getting Together, Jealous Tony, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW Fanart in Chapter 8, Pining Tony Stark, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Tony Feels, Virgin Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony likes the new poster of Captain America.  A LOT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Tony knew it, felt the deep twisting shame of it roiling around in his stomach, making it sour and tight, though the discomfort seemed somehow fitting. 

Because this was wrong.

But, when the Director of Marketing had moved aside the Thor bobblehead and Hawkeye Edition Ray-Bans to spread out the mock-up posters of each Avenger, Tony’s eyes had immediately gone to the one of Captain America and suddenly, he was fifteen years old again, hiding in his room with the lights out and one of his Dad’s vintage Cap posters unfurled on the bed. 

And now, here he was in his room in Avengers Tower with a rolled up Captain America poster and a rock-hard erection.  He wasn’t even sure how it all happened.  One minute, Marketing Chick had been prattling on about licensing fees and the next, he was grabbing the Cap poster and mumbling something about an important meeting he just remembered.  Granted, this was probably not the first time he’d run out of a marketing meeting, though he likes to think it was the first time he’d bolted with a raging hard-on.  Can’t really be sure on that one though.

He wasn’t going to do this, was he?  He should just go get a cold shower, put the poster back where it belongs and forget this ever happened.  He couldn’t say exactly, but while he’d certainly had plenty of masturbatory fantasies involving Cap, there was something infinitely more personal about looking at the poster of…well, Steve.  Because it was Steve now, wasn’t it?  He knew that the guy in the poster liked strawberry milkshakes because he’d been allergic to strawberries pre-serum and delighted in enjoying them now.  Steve, who looked him straight in the eye and said that his favorite part of Star Wars had been that long-eared guy who talked funny before cracking up at Tony’s expression of horror.  Steve, who sometimes sat alone in the living room on nights he couldn’t sleep, wrapped in an Iron Man snuggie that Tony had given everyone last Christmas and who just shrugged and said it was warm when Clint made a comment.  The guy that was actually as good as his father had always said but in ways Howard, who had seen the soldier and not the man, could never understand.  And holding the poster was like having a piece of Steve, something tangible and far more intimate somehow than mere fantasies.  So, he would just put the poster back, safe and sound.  And if he spent a couple days in his workshop Definitely Not Thinking About It, then so be it.  Work was always a good distraction.

For a moment, he honestly convinced himself that he meant to.  That rolling it out on the bed and gently smoothing its creases with his hands was to make sure that there was no evidence of his warped little adventure.  But staring at Captain America in full battle mode, pulling back, muscles taunt to fling the shield, as the artist had depicted him, square-jaw and piercing blue eyes so familiar to Tony now that he could almost read into the expression what Steve would be thinking; trajectory, force, position, friend, foe, three steps ahead of whatever was about to bear the brunt of that throw…

And Tony was fifteen again…dim light from his desk lamp giving off a faint glow as he stared at the Captain America poster he’d nicked from his Dad’s closet.  Cap was dressed in the bright red, white and blue, stretched around ridiculously broad shoulders and sculpted muscles that tapered to a perfect V, looking rather serious in this one, encouraging the good American public to buy war bonds and support the boys overseas fighting the good fight, the perfect man and everything Tony knew he wasn’t.  Despite his genius, fifteen-year old Tony’s fantasy wasn’t particularly complicated. At least he was self-aware enough to know what he was doing, jacking-off to his father’s idol while down the hall, dear old Dad raised a bottle to disappointment. 

_Staring at the poster, fifteen-year old Tony imagined Cap coming back from a mission, sweaty and blood-stained from battle, rushing to Tony’s workshop to tell him how well the new suit and tech Tony had designed for him had done.  “Amazing, Tony!  The Howling Commandos couldn’t have done it without your help,” Cap would say in the earnest way only Cap could ever make that sound (hey, he was fifteen).  Then Cap would slowly move into Tony’s space, towering over him, but Tony wasn’t afraid in the least.  He felt safe, felt loved, and when Cap gently ran his strong arms up Tony’s own to rest clasped on Tony’s shoulders, Tony would lean in and with a groan, Cap would be kissing him, gently at first, but soon it would turn feverish, hesitant touches and tastes giving way to sharp thrusts and rough hands grasping for the feel of skin.  Cap would push him down on the workroom floor, buckles clanging as clothes melted away, incredible muscles rippling beneath Tony’s touch, Cap’s soft smile and words of praise falling from his mouth about how good Tony felt, so good, how much he wanted Tony, thought about him all the time, couldn’t wait to get back from fighting Hydra to see Tony, loved Tony so much, so very much, then strong, blunt fingers pressing into him, deep and full and Tony pressed in, one hand on his shaft and one bent around, finger knuckle-deep inside himself, and..._ well, that was about all for fifteen-year old Tony. 

So, fifteen-year old Tony had some issues.  But now he was a grown man, with years on Steve if you looked at it from a certain point of view and certainly had put his copious Daddy issues at least on the back burner.  He was Iron Man for fuck’s sake, not some strappy, hormone-fueled teenager.  He had to admit that last part was a tad hypocritical given his throbbing erection, but still. 

This was so wrong.

And yet, he knew before he touched his zipper that there hadn’t really been any other way for this to end from the moment he’d seen the poster.  Too many memories, too much repressed desire, whatever you want to call it…this felt like taking something from Steve he wasn’t entitled to take, a betrayal, truly, but when he stared at the hard blue eyes gazing back at him from the poster, he gave up, gave in and moved his hand to his zipper.  Making quick work of suit pants and boxers, his cock rose up to thump against his stomach as he sat on the bed with the Captain America poster between his legs.  Numbly pushing down the well of shame that threatened to rise up, he concentrated on the poster, just him and the poster, just like old times, he thought with a certain manic glee before grabbing the tube of lube from the nightstand and squirting a generous amount in his hand. 

Slicking his length with his hand, he started to rub, up and down with a slight rotation, using his thumb to flick the head and rub the pre-come around the base, and _God, that was good_ , he thought, just this and it wasn’t so bad, really, just like thinking of a model or actor, really, not so different, except that with Steve, he knew, just knew, that _Steve’s large hand would wrap around his cock, so warm and Jesus-fuck-so-good, and he’d kiss Tony, long and slow and deep with the same determination mixed with focus and earnestness and whatever, oh hell, Steve-ness that made him so much more than a bottle-made super-solder, and then Tony would take Steve’s hand and slowly push Steve back on the bed, take control and let Steve stop, just stop always being so controlled, contained, wrapped up in not making a mistake or being less than Captain America should be and just being Steve Rogers, who never backed away from a fight that needed fighting even if looking away was easier, but Steve, Steve always saw.  And Steve saw Tony and would trust Tony and would look at him with such absolute faith, and Tony would be gone, lost in those dark blue eyes, pupils blown wide with want, not at all like the sharp gaze he’s used to seeing from Steve, but desperate and needy and only focused on Tony.  He’d open Steve’s shirt and press gentle kisses, then slight nips against his collarbone, work his way down to a pink nipple, right over Steve’s heart and Steve would be so sensitive there, he’d gasp and make a little choking, shocked sound, but not say anything, just watch Tony suck and lave until Steve was hard and throbbing beneath him.  Then Tony would work his way down Steve’s fantastic abs, because hell yeah he was going to enjoy that, and pull Steve’s pants and boxers down and off to finally, finally have Steve naked and in his bed, flushed with desire, excitement, embarrassment, uncertainty and something else Tony could picture in Steve’s eyes, but refused, even in his own head, to identify.  Tony would wrap his hand around Steve’s cock, and Steve would jump, hands gripping the sheet so hard, Tony would worry about tears, if he gave a rat’s ass about his sheets, I mean really…Then Tony would lean down and wrap his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head and tasting the drops of fluid that dripped from the end and at that, Steve would shout his name and buck his hips, though he would try to control himself, but Tony knew what he was doing, knew how to make Steve come undone, wanted to give this to him.  Tony would open his throat and hollow his cheeks, taking Steve deeper and applying just a bit of suction, moving up and down as he went and Steve’s eyes would close, his head thrown back, gasping only Tony’s name and small moans and sharp intakes of breath before a quick warning that Tony would ignore than Steve would be coming, Tony’s name on his lips like prayer, eyes locking with Tony’s before everything becomes too much and there is an abruptly cut-off shout and then Tony would lick him clean as he softened, move up to kiss him while the taste of him still filled his mouth_ …and then Tony’s hand jerked sharply and he was coming in spurts all over the poster, painting streams of white across the star at the center of Steve’s chest. 

If Poster Cap’s steely, determined gaze now looked a tad judgmental, well, it wasn’t entirely unearned, now was it?

Tony lay back against the headboard for a moment, then padded penguin-style, pants clenched to his thighs, to the bathroom to clean up.  Yes, this was not his finest hour, he was fully aware.

After changing out of the suit into his armor, AC/DC black wife-beater and jeans, Tony emerged from his apartment and drifted down to the communal kitchen.  It was late enough he’d missed dinner, but that wasn’t unusual.  He could hunt for leftovers, which was really in vain given the appetites of a god and super-soldier, but he was an optimist.  Ok, not really, he’d already told JARVIS to order up something from Pho-to-go.  He would, he decided, simply never think of the poster again.  No one would know and he would put it out of his mind, go back to the usual work himself into exhaustion mode and move on.  So he’d indulged in a bit of nostalgia?  He was over it and it would definitely, absolutely, positively and all those words of certainty, never be happening again. 

Which was, of course, when he noticed Steve bending over into the refrigerator hunting for sandwich fixings.  Obviously, the universe hated Tony.  Or just liked to fuck with him. Whatever.  He’d just go back upstairs for a while and wait…

“Hey Tony,” Steve said, without turning.  Damn super-soldier hearing.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony mumbled back, attempting an air of indifference that he didn’t quite manage. 

“I missed you at dinner,” Steve said, placing bread, mayo and what looked like about three pounds of turkey meat on the counter.  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Um, okay…” Tony started, unsure. Steve seemed serious and wasn’t looking at Tony the way Steve normally did when he was addressing an Avengers Issue, and yes, you had to capitalize that in your head, Tony thought.  Because he knew Steve did.  So, it was something else, something more personal.  Which meant it was definitely time for Tony to get the fuck out of here.

“Well, I would love to chat, but I have to finish…this thing,” _oh, good job there Shakespeare_ , “down in the lab, you know…work stuff,” Tony mumbled, already turning to head for the elevator.

“It’s about the new promotional items for the Avengers.  I talked with Deirdre down in Marketing this afternoon about it, and, well, I thought I should really come to you, because…well,” Steve stumbled over his words a bit, the uncertainty an oddity on him that didn’t quite fit, but Tony somehow managed to find adorable anyway.   That is, until the words actually registered.  Marketing.  Promotional items.  _Oh shit_.

“About the poster,” Steve started, and now Tony really did bolt, because no way, no how was he even remotely having this conversation with Steve.  He practically ran to the elevator and spoke quickly, over Steve’s voice, “JARVIS, elevator.  Now.” But Steve kept on, though he couldn’t seem to quite meet Tony’s eyes, and oh God, here it was, Steve was going to tell him that they couldn’t work together like this, Steve felt _uncomfortable_ , and it was all so horrible and…wait, what?

“….So, I just thought that the poster, I mean, well, it should be you, right?  Because you are Iron Man.  You, I mean, not the suit, and I just thought that it would be better, you know, if people understood that, that someone who doesn’t have powers or serum or whatever can be a hero with just smarts and guts, can be so brave and… and, I don’t know…it just seemed wrong to only show the suit, but then I figured I should really talk to you and not just Deirdre because maybe you wanted it that way—“

“Wait, what?”  Tony asked, still scrambling to process how this went from horrifying to something entirely different.

“Your poster,” Steve said, looking at Tony a bit strangely.  “I just thought that it should be you, not the suit.  But, I mean, if you want it that way, then that is obviously up to you, I just…well, I thought it should be Tony Stark, so I gave Deirdre a couple of sketches, just ideas, really, nothing that you’d want to use, of course, but, well…” Steve stopped and seemed to fold in on himself a bit, like he’d said more than he really meant to, but Tony was still playing catch up, always chasing after Steve, no matter the situation. 

“You changed my poster?” Tony asked, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“Well, I made a suggestion,” Steve said, brow furrowed now in the familiar way that Tony loved.  “I think it should at least show the faceplate up,” Steve started and then stopped himself, grimacing a bit like he wasn’t quite happy with the words that had left his mouth, but nevertheless leveling his gaze in such a straightforward way at Tony that it made Tony’s stomach flop from something much different than shame.

“You think the Iron Man poster should be me?” Tony asked, words sounding stilted and uncertain as he tried to wrap his brain around this conversation.

“Yes,” Steve said and seemed to stop before gathering himself and focusing that sharp, deep stare on Tony again.  “You are Iron Man, not the suit.  People should know that.  It is…you are…well, you are the hero.  Not the suit.  It should be you.”

_I have a cum-splattered poster of you rolled up under my bed_ , Tony thought and felt hysterical laughter threatening to overflow. Captain America thought he was a hero. For the second time today, Tony was fifteen, and Captain America was standing in front of him, telling him he mattered. And Steve…Steve thought people should know that Tony was smart and brave.

  
God. He was so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony lay awake staring at the ceiling above his bed, but his mind wandered two floors below.  “JARVIS, what is the Captain’s status?” Tony queried softly. 

“Captain Rogers’ heart rate is slightly elevated, as is his blood pressure.  Both indicate a mild pain reaction,” JARVIS responded.  Tony should be in an exhausted sleep.  They all should, after today.  On the upside, he had to congratulate himself on going a whole day without thinking about the poster of Steve still tucked under his bed.  He’d found himself thinking about it at the oddest times.  Like two days ago when he’d been in his workshop, blue schematics projected before him as he worked on upgrades to the latest armor when he’d had a fleeting thought that the blue hologram didn’t hold a candle to another blue and then he found himself lost for a moment, thinking about the poster and growing hard as his hands moved through the projection, but his mind moved them over something else entirely.  Or when Steve answered a call from Tony on his new Starkphone, saying, “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?  Really, Tony?” but with a smile in his voice and that weird affection thing that would sometimes peek through Steve's words when Tony did things like that because he knew now that Tony wasn’t actually mocking him.  More like hazing a fraternity brother. 

And it would be that lilt in Steve’s voice and Tony’s mind would flash to the poster, guilty this time instead of turned on.  Well, ok, a little turned on.  Because even though he did feel the guilt, sure, that was familiar.  Expected.  And right, because Tony knew, he really did, that the poster thing was fucked up.  Maybe not panty-stealing levels of fucked up, but still.  He should just get rid of it, tell Marketing he lost it or used it for a dartboard or whatever.  Just get it out of here.  But something kept him from doing the logical thing here.  That something was the horrible, messed up part of him that liked that he had this part of Steve that was all his, hell, marked by him, and when he thought about that, he could push past the shame and guilt and there underneath was a sense of power that made his head spin a bit with the depth of his want and need, and the idea that he could have that, have some secret part of Steve here at his disposal whenever he wanted?  God help him, that got him hard in no time.  Yeah, that was definitely fucked up.

Except then they’d had to Assemble and do their city-saving thing and he hadn’t thought about the poster all day.  So go him.  Ok, so it took an evil robot army to completely distract him from it, but beggars-choosers and all that.  Things had been going fine.  Well, if by fine, you include evil robots stomping all over the city, but they were handling it.  Cap calling orders, Hulk happily smashing, Tony and Thor in the skies, Black Widow in the QuinJet, Hawkeye creepily shooting things he wasn’t looking at, I mean, things were working, they were pretty much wrapped up, robot parts already being looted by enterprising Manhattanites.  And then…a building crumbled and the evacuation route was cut off and then stupid Steve and his stupid heroics and before Tony or anyone else could do much but watch, there was an explosion, gas line or who the fuck knows, with Steve and his shield, a freaking shield that didn’t even cover his whole body, geez, jumping front of it and Tony had been sure the arc reactor had stopped working because it ended with screaming civilians running out of smoke and rubble and Steve pinned to a wall by a length of rebar through his upper chest, just above his heart.  God favors assholes and deviants, along with saints and warriors, because the thing missed anything vital, as JARVIS quickly scanned and reported, but still left Steve gasping and choking and looking at Tony as he landed and lifted the faceplate with something like surprise and horror all at once before asking if everyone got out.  Tony wanted to hit him. 

After a quick “we got this” from Widow, Tony had Steve to medical on the Helicarrier in record time, despite Steve insisting he was fine and Tony should stay and help with the clean up and transport.  And of course, Steve was fine.  Well, if by “fine” you mean already starting to heal, skin trying to grow back in place as the doctors tried to clean out the wound and dig every last bit of rusted metal out of his shoulder before the wound closed in on itself while Steve sat there hunched in on himself against the pain because the painkillers they gave him kept getting metabolized by the his ridiculous super soldier stupid, fucking serum to be of any use.  Tony stood in the door of the room, watching Steve sit on the gurney with his uniform peeled down to his waist, cowl off, smaller somehow and younger looking than Tony had ever seen him, and let them dig into his bloody shoulder like they were looking for the prize in a Cracker Jack box. 

When Steve did finally take a deep, gasping breath and look up, he caught Tony’s eyes and held on.  Tony could see the pain radiating there, but what could he do but bear witness, just be there?  He started forward then stopped when Steve’s grip on the metal bars on the side of the gurney suddenly made the bars bend and twist under the pressure, causing the doctors and nurses to stop momentarily and jump back.  Steve just shook his head and said it was ok, he was ok, and before he knew it, Tony had his metal hand curling around Steve’s, holding on as tightly as he dared and letting Steve hold on as tightly as he needed.  “It’s ok,” Tony said, and though he was looking at the questioning medical staff when he said it, Steve’s hand tightened on his and he gave a little nod on it went until he was all bandaged up, left arm taped to his chest to keep the wound still while it healed. 

Of course, Steve still insisted on going to the debriefing.  Tony was so mad at him, he wanted to shake him.  Actually, he wanted to put the suit on and shake him in that because really, otherwise he couldn’t budge him.  He knew Steve insisted on the debriefs because even though Steve always made the right call, even when it was an impossible call and it meant that some people weren’t going to make it, it was still the right one and Tony knew that.  Hell, everyone knew that, Fury included, so why the fuck they had to sit and listen to Steve explain himself, he did not understand.  Except, ok, he did, because it was Steve who called these meetings and Steve who refused to just accept that he’d done the right thing, but expected them to sit there and listen and tell him where they thought things could’ve been done better, maybe something Steve hadn’t thought of or, well, anything that could make them better as a team, help them save more, and it was just excruciating every damn time to hear these SHIELD assholes try to pick Steve apart when they had been safe up here on their flying ship not down there dealing with things and making decisions in milliseconds with only incomplete information at best. 

Tony knew that wasn’t entirely fair and this type of thing was military protocol for a reason because it did save lives in the long run, but he didn’t really give a fuck when he saw the exhaustion and pain creeping over Steve’s face and bleeding strain into his voice.  He hated this and wanted to get back to the Tower, wanted Steve back at the Tower where it [he] was safe.  But no, they all had to go play the good soldier and sit here and listen to Agent Who Gives A Fuck prattle on about acceptable losses and strategic retreat and whatever other bullshit was being laid at Steve’s feet.  He thought if he looked at Steve right now, he’d either grab him and just fly him the hell out of here or he’d repulsor his ass for making Tony feel like this.  Who the fuck jumps in front of an exploding building with a freaking shield?  And then acts like it is business as usual and let’s all go play nice and hear how we fucked it up while Steve calmly bleeds into the conference chair.  And takes notes.  On paper.  _Jesus fucking Christ_.

Tony closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hand, definitely not anywhere near sleep now.  His whole body was thrumming with anger and adrenaline and something else he wasn’t going to look at too closely, but knew was deep, blinding, crippling layers of fear that definitely did not need to be poked because there lies the path of What If and that was madness.

“Where is he, J?” Tony couldn’t help himself from asking.  And it was not creepy at all.  Really.   Tony was just concerned.

“Captain Rogers is currently in the shower,” JARVIS responded primly.

Damn.  See, this really wasn’t fair.  All this caring about others’ well-being just led him astray.  Because he really hadn’t been thinking about it at all.  Except of course, now it was all he could think about, thanks a lot, J.  The doctors had told Steve not to get the wound wet, which Tony knew because Tony had been right there holding his hand, but Tony also knew that Steve would want the smell of the battle off of him, but more so, the hospital smells.  Steve hated the antiseptic and medicinal stench that always followed one of their frequent visits to medical.  More than battle, which was at least familiar, hospitals smelled like death too many memories of panicked, desperate visits trying to keep his mom supported on his then-tiny frame. 

He can imagine Steve tried, tried so hard to follow orders, but couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stand it anymore.  Thought he’d just take a quick shower and rinse off the smell and then he’d be able to sleep, finally, so there he was, naked in the shower and Tony, Tony just wanted shake him for all he was worth and tell him to stop, just stop doing stuff like that because they couldn’t lose him, this wouldn’t work without Steve, Tony knew, but there was no way to tell any of them not to take the hit when it came down to it, but that didn’t mean that Tony didn’t want to scream at him and shake him and make him see, see what it would do to them [Tony] if something happened, and Tony would show him, would make him see… _would walk into the steaming shower, see Steve, head bowed under the jets of hot water, good arm braced against the wall, magnificent body on display for Tony to watch as the water ran down him ghosting over flushed skin and muscles still tensed with pain, and Tony would sidle up behind him and wrap one arm around his waist and run his hand up and down Steve’s stomach, circling lower and lower each pass, but not touching.  Tony knew he should be gentle, cognizant of Steve’s wound, but he didn’t care right now, or he did, but he wanted Steve to feel a bit of the pain Tony felt, wanted him to understand how much it would hurt, how it felt when Tony had seen him laying there with a fucking bar through his chest and then Tony is turning Steve around and kissing him hard, backing him against the cool shower tiles and shoving his tongue in Steve’s mouth to devour and take and have, and though Steve could, even wounded, push Tony away, he just lets Tony have this, lets Tony thrust his tongue deeper into Steve’s mouth and nip and bite, harder than he really should and then work his mouth down Steve’s jaw and neck to his collarbone just above the wound and bite and suck, Steve would tense and suck in a sharp breath, but not stop Tony, and Tony would turn Steve around, brace Steve’s good arm against the wall again, but this time cover it with his own.  Without much preamble, Tony would shove a finger inside Steve, the ring of muscle expanding and contracting quickly, as Steve would take a ragged breath, but just spread his legs a bit more and then Tony would have a second finger in to the knuckle, scissoring and loosening Steve while Steve’s own body tried to correct itself and God, he was tight and so hot, and Tony knew he really should find some lube, but he didn’t care right now, just wanted, needed, needed Steve to feel him and God, yes, he was sliding the head of his cock into Steve, and felt Steve shudder a bit and saw his head bow again as Tony grasped Steve’s hip, keeping one hand braced against Steve’s on the shower wall and pressed in, all the way in one long thrust of his hips, and at that Steve would give a sharp cry, pain as Tony buried himself to the hilt, yes, but pleasure there, too, as Tony adjusted the angle and thrust up, hitting just the right spot and now Steve would be making those quick, soft, choked sounds that weren’t quite cries,  and God, he was so tight and warm and good, and Steve’s fingers would flex under his and Tony would tighten his grip and thrust up again, hard, and again, and just needed Steve to take, to take him, let him fill him up so that Steve knew, understood that Tony couldn’t handle it, needed to Steve to see, to see Tony, and Steve would turn his head slightly, catching Tony’s eyes as he thrust into him, then throw back his head and bare his neck as he moaned and then shower tiles gave way beneath their clasped hands, cracking and breaking, and then Tony was coming, hard into Steve and a few more short, shallow thrusts and he was done_ …and wow, well, that was a mess and jeez, Tony, not even giving Steve a hand there wasn’t very gentlemanly, now was it?  Tony sighed and grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the nightstand.   

It was a long time before Tony finally succumbed to sleep, and only after JARVIS reported Steve’s breathing pattern indicated he had managed to sleep.  Friendly concern about a teammate here, people, move along, Tony thought.

The next morning, Steve seemed much better, and his left arm was no longer taped down, though he did move it a tad gingerly as he prepared his breakfast.  Tony raised an eyebrow in greeting and query and got a quick “Better” from Steve coupled with a small smile that indicated he really was.  Tony nodded and made for the coffee pot before stopping in horror to realize it was empty.  At that, Steve laughed, and Tony promptly decided he could do without coffee if he got to hear that sound, but then Steve was shoving a coffee mug at him, saying, “I snagged the last cup when I heard you coming down the stairs.  Clint was eyeing it,” and he nodded towards the living room where Barton was perched on the back of the sofa, staring longingly at the cup in Tony’s hands, and giving Natasha a baleful look as she gave Tony a slight wave from deep within the sofa cushions beneath Clint and geez, had she been there the whole time?  Ninjas, honestly. 

“You could just make more, Tweety,” Tony said with a smile, sipping his dark roast.  Something whizzed by his head, and then he really was grinning wickedly as Steve snatched the projectile out of the air and confiscated it with a stern, “Not in the house.  You could accidentally break something.” 

“I don’t miss,” Clint said peevishly.  “You could break Tony then, and where would we be?”  Steve replied stoically from behind the newspaper. 

“Less annoyed and more caffeinated apparently,” Clint offered, but Steve ignored him.   And, in retrospect, Tony should’ve just left it at that, really.  Let Clint have the last word for once, but Clint was giving him the stink-eye so, of course, he couldn’t leave it.  “So, Robin Hood, how long does it take you to untwist those tights each day, because I’d just give you all my taxes if…” Tony started, quite enjoying himself, now that he had coffee and Barton to mess with.

“Hey, that blonde lady from Marketing left you a  message…something about whether you were done with Cap’s poster,” Hawkeye cut him off with what could really only be described as a grin one mustache twirl away from pure evil.  There was a pause where the room was dead silent, and Tony’s ears filled with the sound of his heart stuttering to what was hopefully an imminent heart attack.

“What are you doing with my poster?” Steve’s voiced asked curiously from the table, newspaper folding down to look at Tony with a befuddled expression.

Clint started to respond, but it turned into a sputtering cough and Tony turned to see Natasha shoot Cliint a deadly look, before standing and leaving without a word.  “So, yeah, um…I guess I have to be…well, anywhere but here,” Clint said with a smug tone, “Good luck,” and he saluted Tony and practically bounced out of the room.

Tony hadn’t turned back to Steve yet, still trying to come up with some kind of excuse that made any sort of sense because “ _Well, you see, I got a raging hard on the first time I looked at it and then jerked off to it and apparently that wasn’t sick enough, so I’ve kept it rolled up under my bed because I sometimes like to think about that and jerk off again or other times I just like knowing its there and you aren’t bothered by that, are you?”_ probably was not the go-to answer here.

“Tony?  What are you doing with my poster?” Now the question was a little louder in the empty room and more pointed than curious.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Tony?  What are you doing with my poster?” Now the question was a little louder in the empty room and more pointed than curious._

“Target practice,” Tony replied with a cheeky smile.  Or, at least, that was what he meant to say.  The words were right there, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth, it came out as, “My dad had them,” Tony mumbled, the words sticking a bit in his throat.  “Posters, I mean.  Of you.  But I wasn’t allowed to touch them because I might mess them up or something,” and why was Tony just noticing the massive anvil-shaped metaphor that was his life right this very moment?  “So, you know, when I saw it, the poster, well, I guess just habit.  Nostalgia, whatever.  Dear old dad would’ve wanted one, and, well, it was just an impulse, no big deal.  There will be thousands on the market soon, don’t worry, this was just the mock-up from marketing,” Tony continued, and yes, collecting!  Collecting posters of a national icon was normal, right?   Following in the footsteps of your father, honoring his tradition?  Totally normal.  Sure, collecting posers of your roommate was probably not the first stop on the train to Normalville, but it had to be a lot closer to it than admitting to spanking off to them since you were a teenager, right?  Right. 

“So, you…kept it because of Howard?”  Steve asked hesitantly, like he was trying out the words for the first time, but Tony, thrown a lifeline, held on for all he was worth. 

“Yeah, yeah, Howard loved that stuff.  Collected all kinds of Captain America memorabilia.  You know he was your biggest fan.  I probably have a ton of it stashed somewhere with his effects.  Hey, we should go through it sometime.  I could get you to sign a bunch of it and sell it on eBay,” Tony enthused, because, hell yeah, this made tons of sense because there was even a grain of truth there, buried deep, sure, but it was there.  “I mean, we’d donate the proceeds to charity, of course,” Tony continued as he watched Steve’s face tense ever so subtly.

“Ok, well.  That’s…nice, I guess,” Steve said, but his voice sounded oddly strained to Tony’s ears.  Maybe it was all the Howard talk.  Tony knew Steve was careful not to poke too much at that particular sore spot and probably was on a bit of uneven footing with Tony being the one to bring him up.  However, since putting him at ease about the whole Howard situation had the nasty potential side effect of opening up this whole poster line of questioning even more, Tony ignored the impulse.

“Feel up to sparring a bit?  With your shoulder, it would practically be like you fighting with one arm tied behind your back, and I’m feeling particularly lucky at the moment, so what do ya say?” Tony offered, rocking back and forth on his heels with the adrenaline rush of having dodged a poster-shaped bullet.

Steve didn’t answer right away, and Tony faltered for a moment, feeling like he was missing something, but too happy with how the whole conversation had gone that he put it down to pure amazement at having not totally fucked this up.  “I can’t right now,” Steve said, “How about a raincheck?”

“Sure, sure,” Tony waved his hand in dismissal.  “See you around, Cap,” and with that, Tony clapped Steve’s shoulder and sauntered off, definitely, almost positively did not flee, relief washing over him in waves.  He mentally promised to donate to puppies or veterans or, hey, military dogs!  Yes, perfect.  God knows he owed the universe one for getting him out of that one relatively unscathed, considering. 

Except that, of course, the universe hates him.  Because nothing was okay.  Naturally, Tony had fucked things up.  He wasn’t sure how, but there you go.  Almost a week later, Tony sat in his workshop, studiously ignoring the new arrow designs he’d been working on for Clint, who was getting a lifetime supply of Nerf arrows instead anyway, the wanker.  The workshop was quiet. Too quiet.  Annoyingly quiet.  Overbearingly quiet. And the reason?  Because there was no ridiculously loud scratching of a pencil or turning of a page coming from the sofa behind his workstation.  No random response thrown in when Tony talked out loud to himself as he created.  No one to argue with over pizza toppings (pineapple was totally an acceptable topping choice, it was right there on the menu).  Tony hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to having Steve around.  Steve had just sort of inserted himself in Tony’s life after he moved into the Tower, and somehow done it so…politely…that Tony hadn’t noticed he was being ambushed. 

It had started with Steve wanting to know more about the Iron Man suit.  What it could do, what were its defenses, weakness, anything that could help Steve make better decisions in battle.  That had led to long-winded discussions about tactics and options, which somehow eventually led to Steve jumping off things and Tony catching him and dropping him on other things.  Like the best game of Truth or Dare ever.  Tactics and options had turned to smiling reminiscences and one-upmanship storytelling at its finest, Steve about him and Bucky as poor Brooklyn kids, the War, the Commandos and Tony about college and grad school, running the company and all the excesses in between.  Then other stories crept in, about being hungry and sick all the damn time, being alone and overlooked, losing parents, losing friends, impossible situations.  And sometimes, late at night when it felt like they were the only two people who existed, and maybe for that moment, for them, it was true, low voiced conversations about water and ice and betrayals and losing everything you knew.  And starting over.  How hard that was.  How much it took to just get up each day, breathe in and out and carry on.

Except that Tony had fucked it up.  Somehow.  He still wasn’t entirely sure.  Steve seemed to have believed him about the poster thing, so it couldn’t be that.  Yet, here he was, a week later and no Steve chewing on the end of a colored pencil to cause Tony to accidentally delete a multi-million dollar research project.  Not that this happened or anything.  Well, not more than once.  Okay, twice.  Anyway, the point being that Tony was in his workshop, alone, again and Steve had been ignoring him all week.  Sure, that sounded like a twelve year old girl, but Tony decided he was just going to own it. 

Oh, it was never rude or anything.  Always something completely legitimate and above board.  Briefings with Fury.  Practice with Thor.  Charity work.  More charity work.  Yeah, it made it annoyingly difficult to be critical.  Still, Steve had always made time before, so clearly, Tony had fucked up.  Maybe he hadn’t sold the whole “honoring Howard’s legacy” thing?  Well, one thing Tony knew was that for any lie to work, you had to commit to it.  You had to own the lie.  Live the lie.   And, if living the lie involved buying more Captain America posters….well, this was not an entirely unfavorable outcome, now was it?  Yeah, Tony understood how thin that one was, but he was going with it nonetheless.  “JARVIS, how are we doing there, buddy?” Tony asked as he trashed an unfortunately bulky design for Nat’s new Widow’s Bite tech, and why was he even bothering?

“You are now the owner of four Captain America posters, three of which are original vintage posters from the 1940’s and one of which is a modern rendering,” JARVIS answered helpfully.  “Congratulations, Sir.  You successfully outbid Capfan4Life, LuvMyCaptain and StarsandStripesLady.” 

“Nicely done, J,” Tony said with a smile.

“I live to serve, Sir,” JARVIS responded with what Tony could only describe as a slight note of condescension.

“Show me a projection,” Tony requested, and looked at the monitor as four images of Captain America were simultaneously displayed in all their glory, and God Bless America indeed.  Why had he never thought of collecting posters before?  This was the best hobby ever. Lying was clearly underrated.  You tell kids it won’t end well, but look at this?  If those weren’t a happy ending (or the promise of one), he didn’t know what was. 

“eBay checkout would like to know if you would like to select overnight shipping as your default option,” JARVIS prompted, and indeed, as it turned out, he DID want to select overnight shipping as his default option.  Go figure. 

“JARVIS?”  Tony called.

“Dare I ask, Sir?”  JARVIS responded.

“Is Steve back from his intelligence briefing?” Tony asked, almost hoping JARVIS would tell him no, Steve was still out, thereby offering a completely non-Tony related reason for why Steve wasn’t around.

“Captain Rogers returned to the Tower thirty-seven minutes ago.  He is currently in the gymnasium,” JARVIS supplied helpfully.

“Gym live feed on the big screen it is,” Tony instructed, and kicked the wheeled stool back to glide across the workshop floor and settled onto the sofa for a better view.  And what a view it was.  High definition really was a glory to all mankind.  Steve was having a heartfelt conversation with a punching bag at the moment, pounding away like he meant it, not a trace of leftover cautiousness from his shoulder wound evident to Tony.  And Tony was watching closely.  Very closely.  At the way Steve’s simple white t-shirt clung to his shoulders and spread taut across his chest and back, outlining the defined muscles bunching and tensing with each jab.  At the shift to his thighs as he punched and pulled back, weaving and moving in crisp, sharp motions to meet the back and forth movement of the reinforced punching bag as he pounded away.  Tony had a moment to wonder what Steve was thinking about as he watched, since he knew perfectly well that there was training and then there was taking out your frustrations on expensive equipment and this was definitely the latter. 

Whatever it was, Steve wasn’t sharing it with Tony, and fine, fine, not like Tony was owed an explanation.  He knew he was in the wrong here, and if Steve was upset with him for something, then Tony probably had it coming.  Well, okay, no probably about it, Tony definitely had it coming to him and if _he went up to the gym now, he’d find Steve taking out his anger at whatever mistake Tony had made on that punching bag, because he was too much of a gentleman, too much of a good man to take it out on Tony directly, not now at least, no matter how angry Steve got, and God knows Tony could get him angry like no one else, always had been able to, like his very own superpower.  Like when Tony didn’t follow orders and didn’t wait for back-up or refused to back off when he almost had that thing diffused, and Steve’s brow would furrow in that I’m-completely-pissed-but-will-not-yell-on-an-open-comm way.  So Steve kept punching, arms moving rapidly, right then left, harder and harder until the sweat dripped off him and his shirt clung to him and when he turned and saw Tony there, he would steady the bag and slowly take off his boxing gloves, unwrap the tape from bloody hands, never taking his eyes off Tony and then, without so much as a greeting, he would move so fast, be in Tony’s space, right up in his face, but not touching, not yet, just pinning Tony with his gaze, dark and wild-eyed, and Tony would start to say something, maybe apologize, maybe antagonize, but he wouldn’t’ be given a chance before he found himself grabbed and lifted in  one swift motion, his back pressed against the wall, legs scrambling for purchase around Steve’s waist as Steve held him in place with one arm wrapped around him and the other braced against the wall.  Tony would managed a choked sound before Steve’s mouth was on his, punishing, bruising, nipping at his lips and shoving his tongue in deep, leaving Tony panting for air.  Steve would shift his arms to redistribute the weight and then Tony would feel his pants shoved open, throbbing cock pulled free to jut against his belly as Steve wrapped a big, warm hand around it and palming its length.  Tony would gasp, a small sob and nothing resembling coherent words falling from his mouth, just Steve’s name over and over, a prayer, a request, a plea.  Then Steve would free himself, still holding Tony pinned to the wall and rub their cocks together, thrusting and rutting against each other, the friction and feel of him, sweaty and already dripping with pre-come, as Steve wound his hand around both their cocks, holding them together and then began to rub, up and down, up and down their shared lengths, mingling their fluids and slicking them up to ease the burn, and then Steve’s hand was gone and Tony made a desperate sound that turned into a stifled cry as one of Steve’s fingers entered him, pushing all the way in and curving, pressing inside and Tony’s back bowed against the ache of it, and then a second finger joined and Tony’s shout was cut off by Steve’s mouth on his, swallowing his cries as Steve scissored his fingers, pressed deeper and gently massaged Tony’s opening, loosening him.  Tony could hear Steve murmuring his name, telling him he was good, so good, over and over, then a third finger joined and Tony was so full but he needed, he needed…and then Steve would remove his fingers and Tony moaned at the withdrawal and wrapped his legs tighter around Steve, gripping his shoulders and burying his head against the curve of Steve’s neck and then he felt the head of Steve’s cock pressing into him, full and long and stretching him and, oh, yes, that, there, and Steve loosened his grip on Tony ever so slightly and Tony slipped down slowly sheathing himself fully on Steve and for a moment it was just like that, the two of them joined and Tony clinging to Steve and so full, so very full and then Steve was thrusting up, snapping his hips and Tony felt his back pressed against the wall and held on to Steve as best he could and Steve was thrusting deep, deeper and hitting that bundle of nerves again and again and oh fucking hell, right there as Tony’s head lolled forward and there were stars, stars against an alien night…_ and Tony was coming, spurts of thick white coating the pants he’d shoved aside and leaking onto the sofa beneath him as he carefully dislodged his fingers from deep inside himself and lay his head back against the sofa cushions, breathing heavily and covered in mess. 

Well, obviously, he was ordering a new sofa. 

On the screen, the punching bag lay on the gym floor, split open and leaking, looking about as wrecked as Tony felt.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony knew that he needed a distraction other than Steve.  Thankfully, being a genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist, in addition to a superhero, gave one plenty of opportunities to focus on things that did not involve the resident super-soldier.  Hell, he had another genius sharing the Tower with him and really, collaborating with Bruce was fantastic, the way they could bounce ideas off each other and understand what the other was saying without having to slow down and explain it in small words.  On their own, they were both leaders in their fields, boundary-pushers and, for better or worse, natural-born risk takers.  Together, it just made sense.  Brothers in science and all that.  Bruce, with his stoic calm and focused attention and Tony with his strokes of brilliance and ability to see patterns and opportunities, well, they just went together like incredibly awesome peas in a large green pod.  Or something.  Anyway, the point being that Bruce was right here in the building doing important work that Tony could help with, could nudge Bruce along to the heights of the field, could…

“Get out,” Bruce said calmly from behind the microscope.

“Um, what?”  Tony asked, jolted from his reverie.

“You know I love you, man, but seriously.  Get out.  You’re obviously not interested in the experiment and as distracted as you are, you’re going to mess something up,” Bruce countered, taking his glasses off and ostensibly cleaning them just to give his hands something to do.

“That is a spurious accusation!  I’m not feeling the love here, Jolly Green,” Tony shook his head in mock disappointment.

“Really?  What is the experiment about?”  Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

Tony looked around the lab and realized that he actually had no idea what Bruce was doing and had, in fact, been sitting down here largely thinking about how to solve his not-so-little Steve problem.  “Um…something with petri dishes?”  Tony guessed.

“Just go, Tony, its ok,” Bruce responded, turning back to his microscope.  “The Other Guy thinks you should leave too, by the way.” 

“Well, in that case…” Tony started, backing away.

“Of course, he also thinks you should just man up and talk to Steve,” Bruce continued, ignoring Tony’s indignant look.

“This has nothing to do with Steve,” Tony aimed for convincing, but didn’t think he managed it.

“Tony, I’ve been here for over a year.  You’ve been in my lab four times, and once was that time with scavenger hunt bingo where you were trying to find something infectious,” Bruce went on.  “You hate it here, without all your toys and JARVIS and with, you know, actual lab protocols.” 

“That is a gross overstatement there, Shrek,” Tony replied, but his heart wasn’t in it.  He really did hate Bruce’s lab.

“Tony…” Bruce began.

“Going, going, I’m going.  Keep your stretchy pants on,” Tony finished, heading for the door to the lab.   “But this has nothing to do with Steve, just so you know.” 

“Good,”  Bruce responded, not taking his eyes off the test data streaming across his computer screen, “because you two have that gala thing to go to tonight.” 

“Yeah….ok, yeah, I remember, I remember, but…that’s for everyone.  I mean, it’s a team thing. Avengers, rah-rah-rah and all that,” Tony stammered, vaguely recalling the gold embossed invitation Pepper may have handed him two weeks ago and the email, okay emails, that she’d sent to remind him.

“Well, yeah,” Bruce said, “but I sort of got uninvited, something about their liability insurance, and Nat and Clint are on assignment. Thor is on Asgard, so really, its just you and Steve tonight.  And you can’t ditch him.   You know he hates that stuff on his own.” 

“Just me and Steve, huh?” Tony said. “Well, that’s great.  Great.  Just great. I mean, that will be fine.  More than fine. Its…”

“Great?” Bruce offered with a small, sympathetic smile.

Tony caught his eye and Bruce ducked his head, ostensibly returning to his work.  Tony thought Bruce was just trying to give him a moment to leave with a shred of dignity.  He wasn’t stupid.  He took it and headed out of the lab as quickly as was respectable without being an actual run.

Once upstairs in his penthouse, Tony calmed down.  It wasn’t like this was a big deal.  He’d been to more of these things than he could count in his life and certainly plenty with the Avengers in tow, including Steve.  So, no big.  He could handle this.  Just like any other night.  It would be fine.  Just fine.  Great even.

Eight hours later, Tony was wound up, but he put his armor on anyway, Gucci and Bulgari instead of metal, but armor nonetheless.  He could handle this, no problem, he thought as he headed downstairs to the communal living room to meet up with Steve.  The key was to not make a big deal out of this.  It was just a little booze & schmooze, something he’d done countless times.   And then Tony walked into the living room and looked up.  And stopped.  And lost his breath and forgot his name and maybe his heart even skipped a couple beats there, just like a god-damn fairy tale because the universe had moved from just messing with him for karma’s sake to seriously fucking with his life.  He wanted to bang his head against the wall, but he couldn’t look away if Loki himself had been tapping him on the shoulder.  Because there was Steve in full Army Blue dress mess uniform, piped and fitted blue pants with the tuxedo jacket adorned with medals gold braided piping up the sleeves encasing muscular arms and a god-damned bow-tie like something out of a movie (or fantasy).  Life was so unfair.

“Hey Tony,” Steve said, looking up at him, his eyes an impossible shade of blue, and really, how is this even remotely fair, Tony wondered beseechingly.  He’d been trying.  Really, really trying.  To put his stupid physical obsession aside and focus on rebuilding his friendship with Steve.  Ok, largely by avoiding him, but absence and fonder hearts and all that.  And now…dear God, he couldn’t possibly look away.  Or, apparently, form actual words. 

“Ugh…um…”  Tony swallowed heavily against the lump in his throat and forced the words out with no small effort, “Hey yourself.  Looking good there, Cap.”

“Thanks.”  Steve said, eyes sweeping down and Tony felt his heart flutter, “You, too,” he said, smiling a small smile. 

“Well, we should go.  Party won’t start until we get there, eh Cap?”  Tony said, sauntering down the stairs as best he could without taking his eyes off Steve.  “Let’s arrive in style and take the Saleen.  Happy can bring the limo around later.”  Tony knew Steve had a weakness for his cars.  Not that he ever used that to his advantage or anything, but noted the way Steve’s eyes lit with anticipation. 

“Lead on then,” Steve said.  And oh boy, Tony thought.  This was so not going to end well.

The party was to raise funds for the Disabled American Veterans, which explained Steve’s outfit choice.  Tony watched Steve move about the room, always polite and genial, greeting each and every admirer with a smile Tony recognized from his poster collection.  Tony said his hellos and headed straight for the bar.  He wasn’t sure how many he’d had when he looked up from the bottom of a glass and found Steve’s tall frame in deep conversation with a shorter man with dark, sleekly styled hair and bespoke suit.  Steve was smiling, this time the real thing and not the poster smile, and clearly enjoying himself, leaning in to hear whatever the man was saying over the din in the large ballroom.  Later, he’d wonder exactly how he made his way over to the two of them so quickly, as he really didn’t have any memory of doing so.  One minute he was hunting for one of the waiters hoping for a refill and the next, he was edging up to Steve’s side, aware of two questioning gazes aimed at him. 

“Tony?” Steve said in muted surprise.  “Um, hey, well, uh…David, this is Tony.  Tony Stark.  You probably know him as Iron Man, one of the Avengers.  Tony, this is David Sterling.  He owns an art gallery in Soho and was just telling me about an exhibit he’s working on involving photographs taken by soldiers on the front lines of various wars that sounds fascinating.” 

“Yes,” Standing Too Close To Steve said smiling, “I would love to have Captain Rogers’ input on the exhibition.” _I’ll just bet you would_ , Tony thought.  And what the hell was wrong with him, anyway?  “I was hoping we could meet for coffee sometime, Captain,” Needs to Get Out of Steve’s Personal Space continued, making it a question.

“Sure, that would be great,” Steve replied, beaming, and really, no mortal could possibly stand up to that, so Tony almost couldn’t blame the guy for practically having to wipe drool off his chin.  And Tony?  Tony’d had enough.  There was really on so much he could take, and, as it turned out, watching Steve make eyes at this asshole was about his limit. 

“Ok, so, I’m out of here,” Tony said abruptly. 

“What?” Steve asked, head whipping around to Tony, and yeah, remember me, your teammate?  “You’re leaving?”

“Can’t hang out in one place all night, Spangles, and besides, I have a thing,” Tony said through a toothy grin.  “You can find your way home, right?  Its that big, ugly building with an ‘A’ on it, remember.”  At that, Tony could see the flash of hurt across Steve’s face because he had broken their mutual, silent pact to never, ever mention what was said on the Helicarrier and now, Tony was using Steve’s words to hurt, which he knew was a total dick move, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“A thing?” Steve said carefully, brow furrowing with a frown.  “You…oh.  Oh.  Okay.”  And Tony could see Steve visibly gather himself and shift back into Captain America mode, which made Tony hate himself all the more.  Tony knew how much Steve hated doing these publicity things alone.  “I should go say hello to the DAV reps. They worked so hard on this and, well…then, I guess this is good night.  Hope you…well, have fun, Tony,” Steve said, and it almost sounded like a hint of sadness behind the resolution in his voice, but Tony was probably just projecting.  “David, it was a pleasure to meet you.  I’m looking forward to our talk about the exhibition.”

Tony and Can’t Take His Eyes Off Steve both watched Steve walk away.  Tony almost didn’t hear the man at first, but then realized he was missing something.  “Um, what was that again?”

“I said, I didn’t mean to get in the middle of anything, Mr. Stark.” 

“Huh, well, no worries then.  Nothing to get in the middle of,” Tony responded too quickly and clearly wasn’t fooling Fucks Steve With His Eyes.  Ok, so Tony had too much to drink, so what?

“Mmm-hmm,” the man murmured, clearly unconvinced.  And Tony?  Tony was fucking done with this.  He just wanted to be out of this place and away from this guy and Steve and his stupid uniform and his happy art-talk face.  He turned to go without so much as a polite go-fuck-yourself “thank you for coming” but before he could actually walk away found himself, rather inexplicably, saying, “You know, when he says he will meet you for coffee, he means actual coffee.  And he will do it.  And bring notes.  In a little notebook.  Its adorable.  Get him an Americano, black, extra hot.  And for God’s sake, don’t tell him how much it cost.  You’ll end up with a lecture on consumerism and priorities that won’t quit and, well…” 

Stares at Steve’s Ass just looked at him and the moment it changed from challenge to pity, Tony practically ran out of there.

Which is how he found himself sitting alone in his limo, and wasn’t that a commentary on his life.  Poor little rich boy, all alone in his fancy car.  He’d driven the Saleen here to impress Steve and then told Happy to follow in the limo, figuring that he would not be in any condition to drive.  Happy had parked the limo and taken the Saleen back to the Tower, not anticipating that Tony would be done for the evening by…what was it?  Oh yes, the witching hour of 8:45.  Jesus, he was pathetic.

Tony leaned back into the leather seats of the limo and shrugged off his jacket.  He turned his head back towards the brightly lit ballroom and could hear the sounds of music and laughter echoing from it.  Somewhere in there, Steve was probably having a deep, meaningful conversation with David about art while David was having not so deep and meaningful thoughts about how fucking fantastic Steve would look out of that uniform.  Tony hated his life.

And why did Tony even care?  It wasn’t like he’d ever given much thought to what or who his past conquests were doing.  Hell, they could’ve rolled out of his bed and boinked Justin Hammer on the lanai and Tony wouldn’t have spared much of a thought beyond, “Justin Hammer, really?”  But when he’d looked up and seen Steve talking to that guy, paying such close attention, giving him all his focus, Tony’s vision swam for a moment and all he could think was to get to Steve.  And that wasn’t right…he had no claim on Steve.  This whole thing with the poster, well, it was just physical.  Just a fantasy.  Albeit, a fan-fucking-tastic fantasy, but still.  It was just Tony blowing off some steam, and Cap was, by any measure, let’s face it, the stuff wet dreams were made of and throw in all of his Howard bullshit and teenage angst and you had a recipe for a wank session to end all wank sessions.  But it didn’t mean anything.  It wasn’t real.  Tony knew enough to know that much, at least. What Steve did in real life and who he did it with were none of Tony’s business. 

Tony stared out the limo window, the lights somewhat distorted by the glass.  All that was true.  Totally, undeniably true.  And yet…and yet, all he wanted to do was walk back in there and grab Steve and drag his ass out of there.  Just get him away from all of that, the prying eyes and lingering glances and…well, and that guy, yes, if he was honest, he wanted to smash his fist into Mr. Soho Gallery and not look back, and just grab Steve and take him somewhere it was just him and Tony.  But if he did that, of course, Steve would… _well, Steve would ask, looking down at his arm where Tony’s grip propelled him along, “What’s this all about, Tony?” and Tony would just nod his head and continue to press Steve towards the empty room, away from the crowd and the music and the lights and just keep pushing until it was just the two of them.  And Tony would shove Steve forward, eyeing him the whole time and Steve would stammer, “Is this about that guy?  Because, Tony, that wasn’t anything.  You have to know…” and then Tony would push Steve back against the wall, kissing him breathless, tracing Steve’s lips with his tongue before cupping his hand behind Steve’s head and darting his tongue in this time with more insistence, swallowing Steve’s gasp and thrusting his tongue forward, plundering Steve’s mouth with tongue and teeth.  When he came up for air, he’d find Steve’s eyes dark and heavy-lidded, a questioning look in his eye, but Tony’s mind flashed to David, David, with his hand on Steve’s sleeve, leaning in, ostensibly to better hear what Steve was saying, and Steve’s bright, beaming smile directed at the younger man, and Tony didn’t really want to hear anything more.  He just wanted.  He would just look at Steve, lips swollen and red from Tony’s beard, eyes questioning, and Tony found the words tumbling from shaky lips, surprisingly steady._

_“Get on your knees.”_

_Steve would tense for a moment, eyes widening, gaze never leaving Tony’s.  And then Tony could see the moment his pupils darkened as Steve slowly and deliberately sank to his knees in front of Tony.  Steve would look up at him and start to undo his suit jacket, hand reaching for his bowtie._

_“Leave it on,” Tony would say, his voice surprisingly steady.  Steve’s hands would drop to his sides and then raise up, to come to rest on Tony’s hips.  Steve would look up at him, pupils blown wide as Tony unzipped his suit pants and took his cock out, keeping his gaze locked with Steve’s.  Steve would lean forward, rubbing his nose and cheek against Tony’s length, and then, with his eyes fixed on Tony’s, would lick a wet, hot stripe up Tony’s engorged cock, and Tony’s whole body would jerk, though he couldn’t focus on anything but the sensation of heat and wet and had there ever been anything so fucking erotic as the sight of Steve, in full dress uniform on his knees in front of Tony, taking the tip of Tony’s cock into his mouth?  Tony thought he could come just form that, but then Steve would lap delicately at the dripping head of Tony’s cock and Tony would thrust forward a bit, placing his hand on Steve's jaw and moving his mouth forward to meet Tony's thrusts, as Steve opened his mouth around the head and flattened his tongue along the bottom of Tony’s dick, moving it back and forth and Tony had to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders to hold himself up.  Then Steve would look up and with his eyes never leaving Tony’s, would swallow Tony’s length whole, and Jesus-fucking-Christ, thank you for super-soldier lung capacity because apparently, breathing was optional, as Steve moved his mouth up and down on Tony’s cock, moving his tongue in circling motions and—oh, fuck—just using the barest scrape of teeth on the underside before gently sucking, as Tony’s hand wound its way into Steve’s hair and pulled him forward, forcing him to take more of Tony into his mouth, though Steve didn’t object to the intrusion and instead, huffed a bit of air that sent vibrations through Tony’s whole body.  Tony groaned, something unintelligible, and looked down at Steve with Tony’s cock in his mouth and Tony’s hand fisted in his hair and all Tony could think was “Mine,” and before he knew it, found himself gripping Steve’s head and thrusting forward, his cock hitting the back of Steve’s throat as Tony lost himself in the wet and warmth and he felt the slight stubble on Steve’s chin graze the delicate skin on his balls and he hissed, head thrown back, hips jutting forward, one hand braced on Steve’s shoulder and one hand twisted in Steve’s hair as Tony shuddered and came with a shout and quick, jerky movements, but Steve didn’t’ stop his motion until just at the end, as Tony bit back the last moan and Tony watched his throat work, swallowing as Tony shuddered with his release and Tony was folding over himself, watching Steve’s red, glistening mouth work around his cock, and Tony wanted to go back out to the gala with Steve just like that, face flushed, hair messed from Tony’s hand, mouth red and swollen so that everyone (David) knew what their national icon had been doing, and then Tony was gasping with the force of the spasms rocking his body and knocking his head back against the wall and he could hear the pounding, pounding, pounding of his heart as the last of his come sputtered from his body_ …all over the backseat of the limo, mostly missing his pants this time.  Blinking rapidly and breathing heavily, Tony tried to adjust himself back to reality and looked up, startled and unsure for a moment, when he heard an insistent knock on the window.

“Boss?”  Happy asked, “You in there? “

Tony took a moment to collect himself before answering.  “Yeah, Happy.  I’m here.  Let’s go home.”  And wasn’t that just the perfect way to top off a perfect fucking evening?  Caught jerking off in his limo by his chauffeur because Happy, while the kind of discreet Tony appreciated, wasn’t stupid.  Thank God he paid the detailers quite well.  Of course, he thought, looking around, it wasn’t like this was the worst state they’d seen the limo in.

After making it back to the Tower, Tony nodded absently to Happy, who looked only slightly nonplussed by the situation and studiously avoided actually looking inside the back of the limo, and stumbled to the garage elevator.  “Bed, JARVIS,” Tony managed.

Surprising himself, he slept relatively well.  When he woke in the morning, the sun was already high in the sky.  “Time, J?”  Tony queried, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching himself to wakefulness.

“It is 9:43 in the morning Sir,” JARVIS answered.

“Ok.  Ok, I’m up.  Get the shower going,” Tony said as he gingerly moved his feet to the floor and attempted to rise.  Well, would you look at that?  Still had it, Tony thought, padding only slightly sluggishly to the bathroom. 

In the clear light of day, Tony knew, after last night, that he had to deal with this thing with Steve.  He was self-aware enough to know that he was objectifying Steve, quite literally sometimes, to help deal with his emotional issues without actually, you know, really dealing with his emotional issues. And that wasn’t fair to Steve, who had been nothing but a friend to him since the Helicarrier.  He could have his fantasies or he could have Steve, but he couldn’t have both. And that wasn’t really a choice, now was it? 

This thing with Steve, it was so easy to fall into.  Steve was, objectively, ridiculously physically attractive  Couldn’t really blame himself for falling into that head first, but it had already impacted his friendship with Steve and it wouldn’t be long before it managed to work its way into his relationship with the team, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.  Not over some schoolboy crush.  So, this had to stop. There was plenty of spank bank material that didn’t involve Steve, and he just had to let this whole, stupid crush thing go and start behaving like a reasonably mature adult. Who did not stalk his teammates and get his ya-yas out by fantasizing about them in compromising positions.  While he had to be honest with himself and admit that his most recent, well, “personal time” had been especially exhilarating, it wasn’t like it was anything particularly special beyond his mental playground having access to a living, breathing model of human perfection. Who could blame him for going to town a bit?  But, whatever pleasure he’d gotten out of it, it just wasn’t worth the continued risk to his place on the team and his friendship with Steve. 

Yeah, ok, so forgetting about his Steve fantasies might be easier said than done.  But it was worth it.  Obviously, they could not continue like this and since it was Tony who fucked it up to begin with, it was going to have to be Tony to fix it.  He could do that.  Steve’s friendship was more than worth it, Tony knew.  So, he was going to have to swallow his pride and, as Bruce had so astutely suggested, man the fuck up and talk to Steve.  Ok, not about the actual issue of Tony repeatedly jerking off to thoughts of him, because that would just be too weird, but clear the air a bit and get their relationship back where it had been, which had been pretty darn good.  Tony could do that.  He could apologize, and he knew Steve, being Steve, would accept it.  And then Steve would come join him in the workshop again, and they’d go back to having movie night and baseball night, where Steve hit balls off the top of the Tower and Tony tried to catch them before they went past Freedom Tower.  He wanted his friend back, more than he wanted the fantasy, when it came down to it, and whatever it was that had driven him to distraction last night clearly needed to be nipped in the bud before he did actual, permanent damage to this tentative…thing…he had with Steve. His thoughts rested momentarily on that first poster, still rolled up under his bed.  He’d have to get rid of it, and the others.  Cold turkey.  But, it was worth it, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t find some other outlet.  Hell, Tony knew from quite a bit of experience that he could get off without thinking of Steve.  He could move past this. 

“JARVIS, where is Steve right now?”  Tony asked, because he knew he needed to just pull the band-aid off and get it over with.  He’d faced giant space lizards and emotionally stunted god-lings.  He could handle this.

There was an odd pause before JARVIS answered, but Tony only noticed that when he thought on it later.  “Captain Rogers has not returned to the Tower, Sir.”

Huh? Tony’s head snapped around, as if expecting to find Steve standing there, contradicting what JARVIS was saying.  What does that…oh.  _Oh._ Steve didn’t come home last night.

And that…that… Wow.  That was…unexpected.  That…Tony struggled, searching for purchase, that…

 _Hurt_.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, hand fisted in the edge of the comforter, trying to quell the roiling pit in his stomach.  So, Steve didn’t come home last night…that was…unusual.  And ok, maybe, if Tony had to put a name to what was running through his head, he might call it jealousy.  He might also call it gut-wrenching, soul-crushing pain, but decided it was better to stick with good old-fashioned jealousy.  He’d been thinking a lot about Steve since the poster deal, and hey, it was perfectly natural to feel a bit possessive.  But, really, he had no claim to Steve and if Steve wanted to….ah, fuck it, Tony hated this and was done pretending he didn’t.  Because he was a masochist, Tony dressed in his usual metal rock t-shirt and jeans and headed downstairs to the kitchen.  Natasha, Clint and Bruce were gathered around the massive table, helping themselves to a basket of mini-muffins.

“Oh, no.  No, no, no,” Tony chuffed, wagging his finger at the group.  “Those who, and let’s face it, rather suspiciously, ditch their friends on make-nice-with-the-commoners night do not get to partake of the thank-you-for-playing mini-muffin basket.  Give over.”  Naturally, everyone ignored him and continued eating.

Tony sighed and made a beeline for the coffee.  “So, how did it go last night?” Bruce asked, probably because he could pull off innocent curiosity better than Rocky and Bullwinkle there.  Before Tony could answer, the elevator doors pinged open and Steve managed the most brisk and purposeful Walk of Shame Tony had ever seen and made it halfway into the kitchen before looking up and realizing he had an audience.  Tony took in the wrinkled dress pants left over from last night, the obvious bed-head and the fact that he was clearly wearing someone else’s white t-shirt because this one was even tighter and smaller than usual.  Well, fucking hell.  Tony felt a hot spike of something rush through his chest and felt himself draw in a ragged breath.  He braced his hands on the back of the chair, though he honestly couldn’t say if he needed the support or needed to stop himself from doing something truly stupid.  First of all, no one should look that good the morning after.  Second of all…second of all… _god damn it all to hell_.

“Guess I don’t have to ask if the rest of your night went well,” Tony said flatly.  Steve had the grace to blush a bit at that and look down, transferring his bundled up dress jacket from one hand to the other.  “Was there some confusion on which big, ugly Tower you belonged in?”  And that one had some bite behind it.  Tony really didn’t care about being fair at this point. 

Steve frowned and stared at Tony, then shook his head a bit, as if to clear it, gathered himself and set his shoulders.  “Morning, everyone.  Hope I’m not intruding.”

Natasha was chowing down on mini-muffins like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, while Clint’s wide eyes darted back and forth between Tony and Steve like the Wimbledon ball boy.  Bruce was staring at his plate of mini-muffins as if they held the key to his little green problem.  No one said anything and Tony just continued to stare at Steve.  He wasn’t sure what the other man saw in his gaze, but Steve managed to hold it long enough that it was Tony who finally couldn’t stand looking at Steve looking wrecked from a night with someone else and looked away.  Steve nodded a quick goodbye to the group and headed down the hall to his apartment.  Three pairs of eyes swiveled to Tony, but he didn’t meet any of their questioning gazes, just shoved himself off the chair, sending it slamming into the table and turned around and headed back to the penthouse without a word.

Tony shut the door to his apartment with a loud bang and walked in quick steps around the room, not having any sort of destination, just too much bundled up energy to be still. He found himself at the floor to ceiling window overlooking the city and leaned his forehead against the cool glass, not really seeing anything in front of him, but finding the familiar view comforting nonetheless.  He could be honest enough with himself to see that this thing with Steve wasn’t just a physical obsession.  Maybe it never had been.  Somehow, giving himself permission to think of Steve that way had opened up other things that he’d either ignored or buried or just plain refused to see.  But it was all right in front of his face now.  Hell, it was wearing yesterday’s clothes and a day’s growth of stubble.  Fuck his life, Tony thought with shake of his head.

Tony turned around and leaned back against the window, staring at his empty room, thinking about the team downstairs at breakfast, no doubt sharing pointed looks, and Steve…Steve anywhere but here, and finally, his eyes came to rest on his bed.  He lowered his head and his mouth twisted in a bitter smile, but then walked with purpose over to the bed, bent over and drew the rolled up poster from under his bed.  He spread it out, tried his best to flatten it, but it was stiff now, and somehow, had lost its allure.  He didn’t want this.  This thing, this flat caricature.  He wanted Steve.  Steve with his bright eyes and quick smile, who listened to Tony talk endlessly about his robots and tech, who once, on a dare from Tony, managed to work in ten random words during an intelligence briefing, including “rutabaga” for fuck’s sake, who sat up with him when Tony couldn’t get the taste out his mouth long enough to stop coughing against nonexistent water after Tony had ended up in the Hudson with the armor losing power before being pulled out by Thor.

He wanted Steve.  In his bed, yes, obviously, but more so in his life.  A part of his life.  Hell, _the_ part of his life.  The fucking missing piece. Somehow, Steve had come to fill up all the empty spaces in Tony's life, but only now that he was gone and there were these giant chasms of nothing left was Tony realizing it. How did that even happen? If he had the chance, he could show him, show him how it could be, and Tony knew it would be good.  Tony would take such good care of him, could make it so good for him, if Steve would just let him.  And why not?  Steve didn’t seem opposed to one night stands, Tony thought bitterly, though God knows that was hypocritical enough to warrant one of Thor’s lightening strikes.  He wanted Steve.  _He wanted to pull Steve into his arms, press light kisses at the corners of his mouth, press him back on the bed, then move his mouth lower to kiss and suck on the underside of Steve’s jaw, licking his way down Steve’s neck and peeling his shirt off in one swift motion, before continuing to kiss and bite and lick a path over Steve’s collarbone.  He wanted to see Steve’s eyes darken, watching Tony’s mouth work as he kissed his way down, circling a pebbled nipple, laving the sensitive area around it with his tongue, wanted to hear Steve moan, stutter Tony’s name like a heartbeat, as Tony clamped his mouth around the nub and sucked, gently at first, then harder, nipping lightly, then following with a soothing swish of tongue before moving to the give the other nipple the same attention. He wanted to see Steve hard beneath his pants, wanted to feel him through the soft material, grasp and stroke his length as Tony kissed his way down Steve’s stomach, following the light trail of hair before undoing Steve’s pants and pulling his boxers down, freeing Steve’s cock to bob up and curl against his stomach, as Tony’s hand wrapped around it and gave a gentle rub, up and down, then slicking his hand with his tongue, Tony wanted to work his hand in slow rotation, up and down, up and down, watching Steve’s cock grow red and even harder, watching the head start to leak as Steve made harsh little sounds, trying to keep from crying out.  Tony wanted to work his way lower, licking his way down Steve’s cock before swirling his tongue around the head in one quick sweep.  Tony wanted to see Steve’s eyes wild with lust, Tony’s name the only intelligible sound he could make.  Then Tony wanted to work his way lower, licking and sucking the wrinkled, sensitive skin on Steve’s balls, flattening his tongue and working them with his mouth while his hand found Steve’s engorged cock again, thumbing the slit while he moved his hand up and down in a circular motion.  Tony wanted to press lower, as Steve began to buck and writhe beneath him, hands gripping the sheets in knots, while Tony spread Steve’s legs further apart, giving him access.  Wanted to watch Steve’s face as Tony licked his way lower, found Steve's entrance and licked over it delicately with the tip of his tongue before moving his tongue in circles around it.  Wanted to hear the inarticulate noises he could cause Steve to make as he spread him wide and pressed his tongue against his hole and then darted the tip in, curling it just a bit before circling around the edges again, making Steve lose whatever control he had left as he thrust his hips against Tony’s hand and Tony’s tongue went back to work, darting in and out, licking and laving up and down Steve’s ass before pressing his tongue into his hole once again.   Tony wanted to see the expression on Steve’s face as he came against the motion of Tony’s hand while Tony’s tongue was pressed inside him, as he slowly withdrew it, placed his mouth over Steve’s hole and ever so lightly sucked, wanted to see Steve taken apart, undone, unmade, utterly wrecked and shouting Tony’s name as he climaxed.  Wanted to see the look in his eyes when he looked at Tony as he slowly came back to himself.  Wanted to see the lust give way to something deeper, something beautiful…wanted…wanted…Steve_ …and Tony came over the poster with a choked off sob.  And he was done. He was done with this, whatever this was.  He was just…done.  He couldn’t do this to Steve anymore, and he couldn’t do this to himself.  Whatever this had been when it began, it had turned into something else entirely. 

This…this thing…wasn’t what he wanted.  This was some cheap imitation, some pale copy that was bringing more pain that pleasure.  This had to be done.  Over.  The poster, spattered with old and new cum, had never looked less like a trophy and more like the world’s crappiest consolation prize.  Thank you for playing, but you’ll never win.  He had feelings for Steve.  Like, deep, want to be with him all the time, want to see him smile and laugh, want to wake up next to him, want him to never look at anyone else like he looks at Tony, freaking feelings.  And that…well, that was a non-starter, is what that was.  Tony huffed a chagrined laugh, because nothing about this was remotely funny, but you had to appreciate the cosmic emotional fuck-with that was his life.

Tony cleaned himself up and sat back down on the bed by the poster.  He knew he had to get rid of it.  And the others.  The ones JARVIS had won off eBay were down in the workshop, still in their mailing tubes.  The workshop had an incinerator (for when the industrial shredder was just not awesome enough).  Somehow, that seemed fitting. 

He re-buttoned his jeans and rolled up the poster.  No time like the present.  Tony grabbed it and stalked out of the penthouse to the elevator, hitting the button for his workshop.  When the elevator opened to the workshop, he quickly gathered the other poster tubes and marched them steadfastly to the incinerator.  Switching it on, he shoved the unopened tubes inside.  While he felt a bit like a fifteen year old girl after a bad break up, there was something cathartic about watching the poster tubes burn away.  Like the most fucked-up Guy Fawkes night ever. 

He still held the original poster in his hand.  Looking down, he knew he should just shove it in there with the rest of them, but somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.  It had to be done, he knew.  This thing…it was killing his relationship with Steve.  And if he lost that, well, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do.  He held the rolled up poster across both palms, staring at it for a moment.  Then, he slowly crushed it between his hands, rolling it up into a tightly crumbled ball.  He stared at it for a moment, but made no move the incinerator.  Fuck it.  He built robots for a reason.  He tossed the crumpled ball of poster into the nearest wastebasket, watching it sit atop the other garbage for a long minute before calling out, “DUM-E!  You’re on clean-up duty today.  Dump the garbage into the incinerator, would ya?” 

With that, Tony turned away and walked slowly over his workstation.  It was well and truly done now.  He felt something loosen in his chest and pressed his head against his hands, leaning his elbows on the work table.  He felt more drained than he had in God knows how long.  Pressing his hands against his eyes, Tony swallowed hard, forcing any lingering emotion back down where it belonged.  At least there was the work to distract him.  Pulling up the specs for the next generation of armor, Tony began playing with the interface, refusing to look as DUM-E wheeled himself over the wastebasket or turn around when he heard the incinerator fire up again.

It was done.

Hours later, Tony clapped his hands together in satisfaction.  The interface was definitely running smoother now.  “An increase in efficiency of 2.8%, Sir,” JARVIS supplied helpfully. 

“Sometimes, I amaze even myself,” Tony said. 

“A nearly insurmountable feat,” JARVIS intoned.  Cheeky bastard.  Tony smiled.  He felt lighter, more himself that he had in weeks.  The poster thing was done.  He’d apologize to Steve for his behavior at breakfast.  He’d never, ever think about disheveled, just-had-a-night-of-passion-Steve, and life would slowly go back to normal.  He could do this. 

Over his shoulder, he heard the workshop door chime.  “Yeah-lo,” he said in greeting, swiveling in his stool.  And there was Steve, properly attired in pressed khakis and a one of those God-awful plaid shirts he favored, hair perfectly combed, looking like GQ 1942. 

“Hey Tony,” Steve said by way of greeting.  And Steve had his Serious Face on, so Tony inwardly braced himself. “I wanted to talk to you.  Um, about this morning?” 

And here we go, Tony thought with a heavy sigh.  “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that, too.  Look, Steve, I was an ass…” Tony began, trying to make Steve see the genuine regret he felt, but then Tony stopped as Steve’s eyes darted away from Tony and down to DUM-E, who was insistently nudging his leg.   Good Lord, Tony thought, frustrated at the interruption when he just wanted to get this over with, even the bots crushed on Steve.  Whenever Steve visited the workshop, they all practically turned themselves inside out trying to impress him.  Which was…totally not how Tony behaved.  At all.  Steve, being a giant marshmellow when not slinging a disc of vibranium at you, would smile gamely and shake Butterfingers’ hand or play catch with DUM-E, which usually involved Steve tossing a ball to DUM-E and DUM-E attempting to close his claw around it many seconds after it had already hit him and rolled away.  That didn’t stop Steve from trying again.  Optimism was probably Steve’s actual superpower.

DUM-E was bumping Steve’s leg and nudging something at him with his claw.  Steve bent to take whatever it was from DUM-E and for the first time, Tony really looked at something other than Steve.  And noticed what DUM-E was holding.  DUM-E, who had been told to incinerate the garbage.  DUM-E, who did not consider a plaything, like a ball, to be garbage.  So, DUM-E, with all the hope in his little robot heart, was handing Steve the balled up, cum-splattered poster of Captain America. 

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

Steve took the offering and turned it over in his hand, eyeing it curiously while DUM-E whirred with anticipation.  Steve frowned and slowly started to peel the crumpled mass open, revealing the familiar red, white and blue and surely, Steve recognized himself quite easily.  Tony just stared in mute horror at the scene unfolding, seemingly rooted to the spot and totally unable to stop this train wreck before it happened.  Steve finally opened the poster enough to get a good look.  Tony watched with some sort of detached fascination and knew the moment the confusion on Steve’s face turned to startled realization. 

Steve’s eyes snapped up to his, his hands instinctively holding the wrinkled poster out from himself, back to the poster, then back to Tony again.  “You…this…you…” Steve stammered.  And how does one really go about accusing your friend of jacking off on a poster of you?  Yeah, _awkward_.

“Yeah,” Tony said, heavy resignation lining the word.  “Yeah.”  And he looked down for a moment, pulled himself together with a deep breath, turned his gaze back to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! Thank you all for reading, commenting and kudo-ing. Makes my day.


	6. Chapter 6

It was sort of surreal, Tony thought, watching his bot insistently hump at Steve’s leg while the object of his affection held his own ruined edifice in his hand.  Like some Lynchian version of his life.  Next thing, there would be some midget with cheese. Ok, he knew he was edging towards hysteria.  Taking a deep breath and pressing his hands to his head to ward off the ringing in his ears, Tony summoned what passed for courage but was probably just desperation.  Tony ran his hands through his hair and held them, palms out in supplication, trying to find words to make this less horrible.  Really, any words.  Any at all would do.  Instead, the silence just stretched out between them, Tony’s mouth opening and closing uselessly as his brain tried and rejected every possible avenue of explanation until he couldn’t take it anymore.  His whole body was thrumming, like he was going to come apart at the seams, he ploughed ahead, heedless now, just trying to get something, anything to fill the space between them.

“Look, Steve…I…well, I know this is horrible.  And wrong and…well, wildly inappropriate…I mean, I get that, I do,” Tony attempted, his heart hammering.  “It was just…well, you’re…you know, you,” Tony tried, waving his hand  up and down to indicate Steve’s tall frame, “and you know how it is, right?  I’m not like you, Steve.   I know I’m not anywhere near you.  I’m fucked up, is the honest truth, probably never stood a chance, though I know that isn’t any kind of excuse, I do understand that, and this…this whole thing, I’d take it all back in a heartbeat if I could.  I just…you were always this thing for me, from the time I was a kid, and then, as a teenager, well…I guess I don’t really have to explain, huh?  I know how fucked up that is, Steve, I do.  Really.   I get it, believe me.  This, it was totally, and I can’t emphasize this enough, totally wrong and awful, and I feel like utter shit about the whole thing.  I know how sick and messed up this is, believe me.  And you absolutely have the right to be completely pissed here, I mean, I get that, definitely.  You should be.  I…I, _Jesus_ , I’m just fucking sorry, Steve.  That never should’ve happened.  It won’t happen again, I swear it.  You…you…you’re my best friend, and I’ve been a complete asshole lately, I know that, and it was completely inappropriate and if I’ve fucked this up over a stupid…a stupid physical thing, then I’ll never forgive myself,” Tony forcibly clamped his jaw shut, having gone from unable to push syllables together to verbal diarrhea in moments. Fucking typical.  Hell, it wasn’t like he could make it much worse at this point. 

“Is that what it was, Tony?” Steve asked, his voice coming out pinched and strained.  “Just a physical thing?”

Tony knew he could say yes, and Steve would let it go.  This was an out, practically gift wrapped for him, if he could just take it.  But he couldn’t do that.  Couldn’t do that to Steve, who had done nothing to deserve any of this, let alone being lied to about it, about what it meant.  And Tony couldn’t pretend that he didn’t know that this whole thing had been something more, no matter how hard he’d tried to convince himself otherwise.

“I know…” Tony said, his words stilted and careful, “I know that’s all it can be.” Tony’s head bowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.   There you have it, folks, Tony thought, the truth behind this whole sordid charade, or as close as he could get at it without cracking to pieces.

The workshop seemed to contract in on itself, all the air going out of it, leaving just a silence that seemed to hold its own weight. Tony took another deep breath, tried to focus on taking the air in and letting it out to stop himself from begging, though the impulse to continue just to fill the room with something other than the stutter of his own heart was overwhelming.  Finally, unable to let the words just hang there in the air between them, Tony stumbled on,  “Yell at me, tell me I’m off the team, you hate me, hell, hit me if it will make you feel better.  God knows I’ve earned it.   Just…Steve, just say something, anything, honestly, I don’t care, you get a free pass here, do not pass Go, do not collect…”

“I draw you,” Steve interrupted quietly. 

“…your $200, just go right ahead…” Tony caught himself mid-stammer, looking up in confusion as his brain caught up to his mouth.  “Huh?”

“I draw you,” Steve repeated, this time more firmly, his words seeming to fill the room and somehow press air back into Tony’s lungs.  And that was not at all where Tony had expected this conversation to go.  His mind, running a hundred escape scenarios, stuttered to a standstill, a gulf of confusion opening up inside him. 

“All the time,” Steve continued.  “I don’t mean to.  I start out planning to draw that busker down in Central Park who does the thing with the chairs or that woman at the library with the three hats who feeds the pigeons,” Steve’s blue eyes were fixed on Tony now.  And because Steve was braver than Tony when it came to gods and monsters and even when it came to the really scary stuff like feelings, he pressed on, “Once I start drawing though…it’s you,” Steve said, his voice low and husky with some quality to it that Tony was too afraid to pick apart.  “It’s always you, Tony.”

“You…It is?  You do?  Why?” Tony asked, his tone one of genuine curiosity because he was so out of his depth here, so utterly thrown by the words coming out of Steve’s mouth, the sense of unreality still clinging to this whole, stilted conversation like they were having it through a funhouse mirror and any minute, the man behind the curtain would reveal his trick.  Because this, this was not real. Could not be real.

“Why do you think I spend so much time down here in your workshop, Tony?” Steve continued, ignoring Tony’s question, or maybe he thought that was an answer. 

“Um…you like to draw down here?” Tony offered, unable to follow the thread and that was, in fact, what Steve was usually doing down here.

“Tony…it’s in a basement,” Steve said with exasperation, as if that explained any of this conversation. 

Tony looked around his beloved workspace as if for the first time…and yeah, ok, so maybe if one were looking for things like say, light or a view or you know, anything remotely artistic, this would perhaps not be the best place to choose for a studio.  “So not for the light, then?” 

“Not for the light,” Steve responded, slowly shaking his head.  “I come down here because this is where you are.  And I…well, I like being where you are,” Steve finished with a small shrug of his shoulders. 

Oh.  Well…that’s.  Oh.  Tony honestly had no idea what to do with the direction this conversation had taken.  Where was the screaming?  The recriminations?  The disappointed looks?  The getting up close and personal with a perfectly round piece of vibranium?  Tony was totally off-kilter, thrown in the deep end of the pool and told to start bailing, having no clue how he got there.

“I like you, Tony.  I like you…well, I like you a lot.  And if you…if this…I mean, if this is…,” and Steve held the crumpled poster gingerly with his fingertips, because yeah, that was gross, no way around it, and carefully placed it back in the wastebasket, with a stern “No, DUM-E,” when DUM-E attempted the worst rebound ever.  Steve took a deep breath, looked down for a moment and then back up at Tony, and Tony could see a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

 “You…do?” and God, that sounded pathetic even to Tony’s ears.  But there was nothing to be done for it.  His mind, genius it may be, was utterly confounded by the idea that Steve liked him, wanted him and…well, that’s pretty much where Little Tony took over, but he tried valiantly to pull his concentration back to the conversation at hand. 

Steve cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but soldiered on nonetheless.  “Yes, Tony.  I. Like. You.  I have for awhile, but you, well, you never seemed interested in anything other than just friends, which is fine, really, I mean, I was ok with that, and you always seemed to have someone, so…” and the blush was back, which was ridiculously distracting, but Tony was trying, dammit.  “But then, this morning…you seemed…”

“Like a giant, jealous asshole?”  Tony suggested, because, really, that was the truth.

“I was going to go with ‘upset,’” Steve said with a wry twist of his mouth.  “It made me think that, well, that you might feel…something.  About me.  Um, for me.  Because I realized that maybe you thought that, ah, that maybe something, um, happened?  Last night, I mean,” Steve finished lamely.  “Because, really, well, when you said you had a ‘thing’” Steve continued, face scrunched in a way Tony recognized from bouts of Steve and reality TV as a valiant attempt not to be judgmental, “and that usually ends up with a breakfast guest for the rest of us, and I just didn’t want to deal with it last night, so it seemed better not to come back…” 

Meanwhile, Tony was rushing words out, trying not to derail this gift from the gods and stop Steve before he said something that translated to Why This Will Never Work Version 1.0, “Look, I was completely out of line this morning…you…well, you are obviously free to…wait, what?”  Tony stopped his flailing for a moment, letting Steve’s words sink in.  That was…what?  True, Tony did often leave various do-gooder events with a friend for the night in tow, but, really?  Steve decides to listen to him and actually take him seriously about that?  Life was so unfair.  On the other hand…that meant that Steve had been…jealous of the nonexistent thing?  Which was…which was…well, frankly, that was fucking awesome is what that was, and now Tony really couldn’t suppress a grin.  “You were jealous!  Captain America was jealous, I want it on record, JARVIS.  Make a note,” Tony practically crowed, because this was like Christmas, rainbows, puppies, birthday and goddamn fucking Fourth of July all rolled up into one, ok, obviously increasingly exasperated ball of goodness, Tony thought, noting Steve’s grimace, and Tony was stopping now, he really was, before he managed to screw this up, too.  He couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face though.

“Sam says, and I’m quoting, that I should “get my mopey ass off his sofa and go home and kiss you until you make him better wings,” Steve said with a small, hopeful smile.  Tony felt relief rush through him turning his legs to jelly and he loosening whatever vise had gripped his chest since this morning, thank fuck, though he should probably feel guilty for feeling that way given that there was a lot of truth to what Steve said about Tony and his “things,” but instead just gave up and went all in, pushing himself off the stool and across the room to stand in front of Steve and just grabbed him by the upper arms and leaned his head against Steve’s warm chest.  He wasn’t even going to pretend that the shuddering, hitching breaths were anything other than abject thanks, albeit totally hypocritical thanks, and Tony was going to make Sam, Sam, who Tony adored, totally was like the nicest guy, what with his steady VA receptionist girlfriend, the best wings there ever were, he’d make him fucking pterodactyl wings with lasers and shit and now Steve was laughing softly.  “Pterodactyl wings, Tony?  I think he’d be fine with them being just a bit more maneuverable,” Steve said with a fond smile, curving his arms around Tony in a loose version of a hug, as if he wasn’t really sure yet that this was ok. 

“So,” Steve began, wrapping his arms carefully a bit tighter around Tony’s smaller frame, “does this mean…” and he trailed off, leaving Tony to realize that he hadn’t actually done or said anything beyond attempting to apologize profusely for epic wank sessions involving a poster.  He should probably clarify things a tad.

“Um, so, yeah, I have them, too,” Tony said, ever eloquent, “The feelings.  I have them.  About you.  And cannot emphasize enough how sorry I am about the poster thing.  Cannot. Emphasize. Enough.”  Tony decided the best course of action at this point was to shut the hell up and bury  his face in Steve’s chest again because at least if he messed this up, he’d have this moment to hold onto and nothing could this memory away from him.

Which is, of course, when all higher brain function got totally short circuited.

Steve cleared his throat, causing Tony to look up and notice that Steve’s blush had deepened and spread across his cheek and down his neck. 

“I think about you, too,” Steve said thickly, his voice a bit hoarse.  “Like…like that,” he said and waved his hand at the mashed up poster.  And now the blush was full blown, but Tony couldn’t really register anything other than the implications of ‘ _I think about you, too.  Like that_.’  And holy fuck, it should not be possible to get this hard, this fast from nothing but words, but give his dick a blue ribbon for impressive response time.  Tony was pretty sure he groaned.  Steve…Steve thought about him?  Steve…thought about him… _like that_?  Tony’s mind was still blanking on that last one, but other parts of him knew exactly how to respond and were quickly overriding any other thoughts.  Tony might have whined, he would never be able to say for sure. 

Tony did the only thing he could think of that didn’t involve simply dropping trou and bending over, and leaned up to capture Steve’s mouth in a gentle kiss, moving along Steve’s lips, tracing them with his tongue and lightly scraping his teeth.  He tried to pour as much of what he was feeling into what his mouth was doing, but then Steve’s mouth opened under his with a soft groan and Tony was gone.  Wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and drawing him closer, Tony pressed his tongue inside Steve’s mouth.  Tony’s hands roamed from Steve’s arms across his chest and down his stomach, his tongue exploring Steve’s mouth with more and more frenzy as Tony’s hands skated lower.  And that was when Steve broke off the kiss, panting heavily, eyes as dark as the ocean deep. 

Tony made a needy noise in the back of his throat and moved to recapture Steve’s mouth, but Steve held him at arm’s length.  “I, um…I think now would probably be a good time to mention that this is…well, I don’t want you to stop or anything, its just…this is kind of new for me,” Steve said, peering down, and for a moment all Tony could see was red, swollen lips, the sweep of lashes over dark eyes and flush-stained cheeks.  The he registered Steve’s words.  “I know that’s not how things are really done these days, but…well, I was always waiting for something, I guess.”

“What?” Tony said breathless with the lingering effects of the kiss and utter confusion, because this whole thing was just not computing on any level.

“The right partner,” Steve replied, and the Serious Face was back, so Tony knew this meant something to Steve, and if he could just….just…oh.  He apparently finally got enough blood flow to his brain to catch up.  Tony had never particularly wanted an inexperienced partner.  He’d always preferred someone who knew what the deal was and was just as into it as him.  Someone comfortable with themselves and their sexuality,  confident in the bedroom.  Otherwise, it wasn’t really worth the effort.  So, he’d never really had any kind of virginity kink.

Until right. Fucking. Now.

Because, frankly, the idea that no one but Tony would get to do these things to Steve, would get to touch him and make him make those sounds, no one but Tony would know what sounds he made when he couldn’t control it anymore, or see his face when he came, well, that?  That was the fucking hottest thing Tony had ever heard in his life.

_Ev-er._

“Tony, I didn’t mean that  you should stop or anything, I just thought you should know, so, well, now you know,” Steve finished lamely and no, no, no, that wasn’t going to do, Steve feeling embarrassed or ashamed in any way about The Fucking Hottest Thing Ever (Tony’d already capitalized it in his head). 

“Just…just stop speaking words,” Tony tried.  “Just stop, I can’t…you…Jesus, Steve…you’re killing me, you are literally killing me, I’m going to die right here and DUM-E can officiate my funeral and please don’t read that stupid poem about the clocks…”

“Tony.” 

“Ok, yeah, I’m here, I just…this is all…I don’t even know what to say here, but I’m going to do everything, Steve, seriously, every freaking thing, to make this work because I need you to….” _be with me, never leave me, stay_ “know that I want this.  You.  All of it.  The feelings and the kissing and the rest of it, but I am going to do this right, I swear.  No more screwing up,” Tony paused,  “Ok, that sounded a bit wrong, considering, but…”

“Ok,” Steve said.

“Ok?”  Tony asked stupidly.

“Yeah, ok,” and now Steve was smiling and really, he should never, ever have any reason for any other expression and Tony made it his new goal in life to make sure that look appeared on Steve’s face as much as possible. 

“So, we’re doing this?”  Tony said, making it a question.

“Looks like,” Steve responded, still smiling, and it was the real smile, not the poster smile, pulling Tony into another kiss.  Steve stopped abruptly, glancing askance, and no, no, no, no stopping, Tony thought, angling his head and aiming for Steve’s bottom lip.  “Hey, is that a new couch?” Steve queried curiously.  Well, now the universe was just trolling him.

So, dating.   Courting.  Wooing.  Tony could woo.  He could totally woo.  Ok, who was he kidding?  He was terrified, but as it turned out, dating Steve was, well, a lot like what they’d been doing before, only with way more use of tongues.  Five weeks of dinners, movies, poker nights (Steve had no poker face.  At all.), epic video game matches that Steve inevitably won (stupid hand-eye coordination), at least until Tony hooked up an old Atari and put in the E.T. cartridge, and yes, that was truly evil.  Marathon sessions of Tony being a genius in his lab while Steve drew, and Tony totally did not hold poses just in case or anything remotely like that.  Long walks through the park eating hot dogs and talking about everything from politics to really, what was it about Pop-Tarts that so enthralled Thor because Tony had looked up all the ingredients and could not figure it out.  Short runs through the park after escaped Hydra agents…so, basically, dating.   

And baseball.  Can’t forget that.  Tony loved baseball night, because when it came to baseball, Captain America was kind of a dick.  It was awesome.  Tony was thankful Stark Industries sprang for a box because when they inevitably ended up on the Jumbotron, Steve just looked really passionate about the game and no one could tell he was heckling the crap out of the Yankees.  When Tony asked, with an enormous grin, how Steve could possibly say such things to people, Steve just looked calmly at Tony and replied, “Tony, they aren’t people. They’re the Yankees,” and shook his head sadly. 

Tony spent a day and a half exploring moving the Dodgers back to Brooklyn when he got a rather pointed call from Pepper, who, despite Tony’s attempt to explain about Steve’s smile and how important this was, said none too delicately, “You cannot buy the Dodgers and move them across the country to make your boyfriend happy.  Just stop waxing poetic and say the actual words to Steve, Tony, for the love of God.”  And hung up on him. Boyfriend, huh?   Tony kind of liked the sound of that.  At least when he said it to himself.  Not out loud, God forbid. 

Tony settled for a game ball from the 1955 World Series signed by the then-Brooklyn Dodgers, who had defeated the hated Yankees 2-0.  If Steve’s reverence for the stupid ball resulted in signed uniforms, bats and other Dodgers paraphernalia, well, Tony was blaming JARVIS, who was still on eBay duty.  Granted, far less morally bankrupt eBay duty, but still.  JARVIS was a bro.

So, now they were dating and Steve was his boyfriend and Tony was just as happy as he could be.  Happy, happy, happy.  Definitely not sitting around thinking about the virgin-shaped elephant in the room.  Nope. 

Ok, so maybe Tony spent a few hours thinking about how Steve’s first time should be.  If by “a few hours,” one meant days on end to the exclusion of any actual work.  Whatever.  This was important.  Top secret government contracts could take a number.  Seriously, have you seen Steve?  No one could possibly blame Tony for any delay.

Paris?  He could take Steve to the Louvre after hours, let him wander around until his heart was content without having to defer to a million tourists.  The house in Vail?  He could imagine Steve relaxed on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire and…hmmm….um?  He’d lost his train of thought.  Ok, yes, the ideal setting, there we go.  A castle in Scotland?  An oceanfront mansion in Monaco?  Basically, none of these things were good enough for Steve.  It needed to be perfect.  Something that would let Steve know how he felt without, you know, actually letting Steve know how he felt.  They were just sympatico that way and did not need words.  No, definitely no words needed to be spoken, no matter what Pepper said.  He discarded ideas as fast as he came up with them, and nothing seemed quite right.  Tony would just have to come up with something truly extraordinary, worthy of Steve, which was no mean feat, but he wanted this to be special for Steve, and wanted Steve to know that it was special for him, too. 

Naturally, his plan went to utter shit.

Freaking rock monsters.  Stomping up and down 7th Avenue, crushing cars and generally making parts of the Fashion District so last year.  Honestly, how was this his life, he wondered as small boulders and gravel rained down on him after blasting one of the bigger ones.  The Port Authority Bus Terminal hadn’t been all that far away.  Tony had legitimate reasons to be concerned about just what they were covered in. 

Post-battle, Tony dropped Steve down on the landing platform at Stark Tower, and landed beside him with a thud.  He was tired and hungry, and they were both covered in battle grime, dust from destroyed sheetrock, gravel from demolished streets and dirt from sources Tony refused to think about.  All Tony wanted to do was grab a plate of leftovers from the fridge, plop down on the sofa and not move for twenty hours.  Tony switched the faceplate up and barely had time to start to formulate a coherent sentence before Steve’s mouth was on his, his tongue plunging into Tony’s mouth, and oh, yeah, that was…that was just fine with Tony.  So, new plan then, Tony thought.  Tony groaned and opened his mouth, allowing Steve’s tongue entrance, placing gauntleted hands on Steve’s shoulders and pressing him back into the apartment. 

“Steve, Steve, we should st--…Nugh…” Tony attempted without much success to slow things down a bit. Because he should.  He was sure of it.  He couldn’t think of why at the moment, but it seemed true.

Steve’s hands were running over the armor in rapid, hurried motions, grasping and releasing, trying to find something to hold onto.  “I need…Tony…I…” Steve stuttered, movements becoming more frantic.  And Tony was really only human, after all.

“Are you…are you sure?”  Tony managed, each word gasped between sparring with Steve’s mouth.  In answer, Steve grabbed Tony, lifted and pressed him, five hundred pounds of armor and all, against the wall with a growl and went back to devouring Tony’s mouth.

We’ll be taking that for a yes, was Tony’s last coherent thought.

They stumbled, mouths still locked together, hands fisted wherever purchase could be had, further into the apartment, Tony shedding the armor as he went, ripping the cowl off Steve and pushing him backwards onto the bed, landing with a grunt on top of his hard chest.  “Tell me what you want, Steve, anything, just say it, anything and I’ll do it, just ask, I swear,” Tony mumbled through the haze of Steve’s mouth on his.

“You…want you…Tony, I need…you…inside me, _please_ ,” Steve rasped against his mouth, and holy God in heaven, Tony felt his dick roar to life with such intensity that he had to stop for a moment and just take a breath because oh, fuck, he was not going to come like a horny teenager all over Steve just because of…words.  He was not.  NOT. 

Tony groaned, throwing his head back to get a look at Steve, just needing to be sure.  Whatever it was he saw in Steve’s expression, it was enough.  Tony dipped his head again, grabbing Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucking a groan out of the super-soldier.  “Going to need this off of you, Cap,” Tony said breathlessly. 

Hurriedly stripping Steve’s uniform off was like the best, albeit fast, peep show ever, Tony thought absently, as Kevlar, buckles and zippers hit the ground, revealing smooth skin and rippling muscles, ridiculously broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and then Tony was pushing the uniform all the way down, releasing Steve’s cock, and mentally thanking the uniform gods for skin-tight suits that didn’t allow undergarments, Tony worked the uniform down, over strong thighs as Steve helpfully kicked it the rest of the way off and then Tony was gazing in delirious amazement as Steve’s cock sprang free to ride up to lay hard against his belly, fully erect and already purpling with strain and thank you Jesus and Buddha and Jehovah and Mohammed and those big stone-face things on that island, that creepy chick with all the hands, the aliens in the comet, and…

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Steve commented lightly.

“Hmmm….?”  Tony managed, not really caring, because while he’d never been a size guy, well, gift horse, mouth and all that.  Speaking of mouth…

Tony didn’t wait for Steve to grow uncomfortable under his scrutiny, just leaned down and took the head of Steve’s cock in his mouth with a pent-up moan, sucked gently, working his throat and then swallowed down as much as he could without hitting what he’d thought was a nonexistent gag reflex.  

“Oh…oh, _Tony_ …” Steve sputtered, and then tipped his head back against the pillows, his grip on Tony’s shoulders digging in just enough to be ever so slightly painful.  Tony pulled off a bit and then took Steve’s length in again, flattening his tongue along the underside and moaning around it, causing small vibrations thrumming through Steve’s cock.  Tony knew he was good at this, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t had enough time to think it over, but this was so much better than any fantasy, the taste and texture of it, of Steve, the feeling of power he had, watching Steve succumb to the sensations, it was amazing. 

Steve moved his hands from Tony’s shoulders to grip the sheets, needing more purchase as Tony continued to suck and bob his throat around Steve’s shaft.  When Tony pulled off enough to lick at the pre-come dripping from Steve’s slit, Steve’s whole body bowed taunt, and Steve’s fingers were in Tony’s hair, trying desperately to push him away as inarticulate warnings spilled from his lips, and as if from a tunnel, Tony could hear Steve calling out to him, but didn’t care, just continued his ministrations and then hot jets of come were shooting down Tony’s throat as he swallowed around Steve’s cock, before pulling off and licking the end neatly clean, like a cat with its cream.  Steve was looking down at him, eyes wide and unfocused, completely wrecked, hair askew, mouth gaping slightly. 

“Tony, you…I…that…”  Steve stammered, incoherently, but managed nevertheless to pull Tony into a sloppy kiss.

“Yeah, its ok, I got you babe,” Tony said, running his hands gently over Steve’s face and down his chest.  “Going to make this so good for you, so very, very, good, I swear.” 

Steve’s look of utter trust nearly undid Tony right then and there.  But, always one to rise to the occasion, so to speak, Tony rolled himself over to grab the lube out of the nightstand drawer.  “You sure about this?  We don’t have to do anything else, really, Steve, this is all good,” Tony offered. He wasn’t sure if he totally meant it, but he wanted to mean it. In answer, Steve scooted downward, closer to Tony, and spread his legs just a bit, but that was all the invitation Tony needed.  He spread a generous amount of lube on his hand and dipped his finger down to Steve’s entrance.  “You tell me if there is anything you don’t like, okay?  Anything hurts, you say something.  Promise me, Steve, no heroics here.”

“Thirty minutes ago you threw me at a giant rock monster,” Steve reminded him dryly.  Ok, fair point, Tony acknowledged, and pressed his finger in to the knuckle, watching Steve’s face intently for any signs that this was a no-go.

“Oh…”  Steve started, his body tensing, “Oh, that’s…” 

“Steve?”  Tony stopped moving.

“That’s…good.  God, Tony, don’t stop.”  And as if to prove a point, Steve wiggled down a bit, and okay then, folks, that was fucking hot as hell, is what that was.  The Good Little Tony Angel on his shoulder could take a freaking hike. 

Tony grinned, “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you.”  He slowly pressed a second finger in, giving Steve enough time to adjust to the sensation before languorously moving them in a circular motion, then hooking upward, finding just that spot and pushing deeper, scissoring his fingers slightly, causing Steve’s hand to slam back against the headboard and beautiful, wonderful, totally unintelligible sounds to fall from his lips.  

“T-Tony, gah…”  Steve moaned, thrusting his hips against Tony’s fingers, his cock already hard again, and really, that should be the goal of science, right?  Why were we wasting precious resources on stuff like fighting disease or clean water when there was this???  People may think Tony’s priorities were out of whack, but seriously, that was only because they had not seen the expression on Steve’s face.  Put that on the telethon, people, and you’d raise a mint, and, okay, yeah, focus.  He could do that.

A third finger followed, filling Steve and stretching him and now Steve was thrusting down harder, though Tony couldn’t say for sure if Steve even realized what he was doing.  “You still with me?” Tony asked, quickly pealing himself out of the undersuit and squeezing more lube onto his hands and running them over his ridiculously hard cock.  This wasn’t going to take long, and it wasn’t even because of the virgin.  Go figure.  _Christ._

Steve’s eyes darted to his, and there was something there that Tony was afraid to even attempt to identify.  “Steve, are you sure you’re okay with this?”  Tony panted out.  “We really don’t…gurgh…” And Tony lost the ability for speech as Steve, whose take charge attitude Tony had obviously never fully appreciated before now, reached down and grasped Tony’s cock and guided it in himself, pressing his hips down to meet it.  Well, with that kind of encouragement, what could you do?  Tony stared in wonder for just a moment as the head of his cock disappeared inside Steve, as a strange giddiness crept in.  _I’m inside him_ , Tony thought, and whatever that was wrapped itself around his chest and made him draw in a ragged breath.  Tony pushed deeper, burying himself fully in Steve’s tight sheath, feeling his balls drag against Steve’s ass as he pushed forward.  Bracing his hands on either side of Steve, he drew back and began to thrust, slowly at first, but then found couldn’t sustain that tempo with Steve grinding down and making those unholy sounds.  Tony felt himself speeding up, thrusting harder, snapping his hips, and he wasn’t even sure what nonsense was pouring from his mouth at this point, but Steve seemed to be pleased with it, reaching up and cupping Tony’s jaw and rubbing his thumb along Tony’s cheek as Tony pounded away.  Tony was too far gone to give much thought to anything else, though he did manage to shift his angle just enough to tap against Steve’s prostrate and heard a sharp cry and felt Steve’s hand spring to grip over Tony’s hand where Tony’s held his hip, the other other thrown back over his shoulder as his whole body tensed again.  Tony felt his stomach coated with streams of come and then Tony was thrusting in long, deep strokes, one hand gripping Steve’s hip and pressing down slightly, the other braced on the mattress as he thrust up and in and he was coming with a shout and fairly exploding inside Steve, his ears echoing with the force of it.

Except, wait, Tony thought, slowly blinking himself back to consciousness.  That wasn’t right…he gingerly moved his head off where he had face planted onto Steve’s chest and looked up.  To see Steve staring in confused shock at his hand, which was holding a large chunk of Tony’s wooden headboard. 

Steve looked down to Tony and with what could only be described as a goofy grin, said, “Oops.”

Tony stared for a moment longer and then promptly burst out laughing.  Gut-wrenching, breath-catching, body-racking laughter.  He looked back up at Steve and watched as Steve tossed the square of wood to bounce off the wall and into the wastebasket in a perfect arc (of course).  “God, I love you,” Tony gasped out, still laughing.  Wait.  Shit. 

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

But Steve just ran his hand up to curve around the back of Tony’s neck and patted gently, and then, in in sleepy contentment, murmured, “Love you, too, Shellhead

Well, okay then.   Tony carefully pulled out and heard a small moan as he did.  He got a towel from the bathroom and cleaned them up as best he could, but really, the bed was probably a total loss.

Completely worth it, of course.

Two weeks, a new bedframe with iron bars (and don't think Tony had any problem with the large finger-shaped indentations that came to wrap around them) and lots of fantasies come to life later, Steve and Natasha were headed off to Eastern Europe over some supposed Winter Soldier sighting.  Tony, quite frankly, felt like the guy could take a long walk off a short pier, seeing as how the last time Steve encountered him, Steve ended up in a hospital with freaking gunshot wounds.  But, he wisely kept that thought to himself. 

“How long will you be gone?” Tony asked, and that did not at all sound plaintive, thank you very much. 

“Don’t know.  Depends on what we find when we get there,” Steve said reasonably.  God, that was annoying.

“Well, it isn’t like I don’t have a ton of stuff to work on around here.  This place doesn’t run itself, you know,” Tony grumbled.  Was he supposed to be supportive here?  How do you do that when you just want to tell someone not to go.  You know.  Anywhere. Ever.  How was that not reasonable?

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to keep you occupied,” Steve said, and there was something behind his smile this time that Tony couldn’t place.  He forgot his concern when Steve wrapped him in a warm embrace and placed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, okay,” Tony said in response.  “Just be careful.  No falling out of flying things or nearly drowning or…”

“I’ll be fine, Tony.  Be back before you know it,” Steve assured him.

“That seems wildly optimistic, Cap,” Tony said rather petulantly. 

“Be good, Tony,” Steve said, smiling softly and throwing the last of his clothes in an overnight bag before picking up the shield and heading to the landing pad and waiting QuinJet.

So Tony was.  Good.  He went down to the workshop and finished up the modifications to Sam’s wings, got Natasha’s Widow’s Bite a bit of extra juice and even, because he was magnanimous in his forgiveness like this, made Clint a new arrow on a delayed explosive timer.  See?  He could be wildly productive and definitely not spend all his time thinking about how lonely it was without Steve to turn to when he hit on just the right way to rig something to make it work better.

Dragging himself up to the apartment at sometime after midnight, Tony stumbled to the bed and kicked off his shoes, running his toes into the plush carpeting.  He looked at the bed, seeming huge and empty with Steve’s octopus appendages spread out all over it.  Tony sighed and finished undressing, closed his eyes and lay back against the soft pillows.  Okay, so he missed Steve.  But there wasn’t anything to be done about it.  Steve was gone and he’d just have to deal with that for awhile.  A cold shower (or twenty) and he’d be fine.  Not like he’d never been alone before, though he was surprised at how quickly he’d gotten used to Steve fitting into his life, like there had always been a Steve-shaped space there and he hadn’t known it until it was filled.

Tony scrubbed his face with his hand and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling.  And gave a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. 

“JARVIS?” Tony asked with a huge grin.

“Yes, Sir?”  JARVIS responded promptly.

“I have the best boyfriend ever,” Tony said with unconcealed glee.

“Indeed, Sir. Shall I dim the lights?”  JARVIS replied.

“You know me so well,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together.  He grabbed the tube from the nightstand and squirted a thick coat of lube onto his hand, reaching down to grasp his hardening cock.  He looked up and smiled. 

At the brand new Captain America poster taped to the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rimming and virginity kink in one fic? Finally putting that liberal education to good use. Thank you all so much for reading, commenting and kudo-ing. I swear, I'm like a rat trying to get her fix every day refreshing the page. This was my first attempt at fic ever, so I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I reblog Stony stuff and occasionally post things on tumblr. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sabrecmc


	7. Fanart by Stitchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this fantastic art done by the amazingly talented Stitchy! You can see more of Stitchy's work and find commission info at: stitchyarts.tumblr.com

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHG9)


	8. NSFW Fanart by rosblues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at this wonderful fanart done by the amazingly talented rosblues! Find her on tumblr at rosblues.tumblr.com. She is currently taking commissions, so hit her up for some fantastic artwork!

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LH6H)


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